Episode 68

- Part I

... from the Files of Hydrogen Guy

The Southern Ontario International Life-Term Detainment Facility, located a ways outside Hamilton on the shore of Lake Ontario, was one of Canada's three prisons devoted specifically to supervillains. Very few people outside the underground world of superheroes and villains knew that "the Soil" is anything but a minimum security facility for securities frauds.

But the Soil had the heaviest defenses of any prison in Canada. The inmates, mostly flamboyant personalities who lived by their supervillain identities, were stripped of any identity but their prisoner numbers. Solitary confinement was the rule, with only a two fifteen minute breaks per day. Many of the guards were former or rejected League of Heroes reservists; all carried heavy weapons that required Galactic Customs permits to possess, and while on duty, their hearts, brains and spinal cords were wired to powerful explosive devices that would devastate a fifteen meter radius should the guard die or lose consciousness.

It was not what one would call a nurturing environment.

But it could be worse, Prisoner 19683 mused; at least it wasn't the Facility. His uncle was an influential man who had faced charges in the same incident that he had; however, the evidence against his uncle was flimsy and largely circumstantial. His uncle's lawyers had made a deal with him - confess and take all responsibility for the plot, absolving his uncle, and the lawyers could keep him out of the Facility. He considered it a reasonable deal.

His surviving partner had not been so lucky. It didn't weigh on his conscience; let the son of a bitch rot.

"If you could lift your foreleg, please."

He did as the doctor instructed. The doctor breathed heavily as he ran his hands over 19683's back, poking and prodding the muscles which flexed as he lifted his leg. He winced as the doctor pressed a tender spot.

"Hmm. Yes. Lower your leg please? ... Hmm... now a hind leg... yes... Fine, thank you."

Prisoner 19683 - legally known as Mark Sanders, better known in the criminal world as Camus - lowered his hand leg. The doctor was a prisoner like himself - Dr. Brandin Marlowe, who had been called the Mutant Maker, and who had been on the losing side of a decade long power struggle with Captain Toronto. By usual standards he was an enormous man - a shade over six feet tall, but tremendously obese. Camus still had about a hundred pounds on him, though, although he was as fit as an imprisoned centaur could be.

Marlowe was a leading expert on so-called "meta-human" physiology. As Camus suffered from a pair of imperfectly matched spines, the Soil's administration had allowed him three carefully supervised consultations with the doctor a week. The two were in a large room in the institution's medical wing. Three armed guards - one watching the doctor, and the others the patient - stood by.

The doctor slowly walked around to address Camus face to face. He looked pleased.

"The dorsal muscles have definitely strengthened somewhat. I believe we have succeeded in persuading the two segments of your spine to cooperate with each other a tad more efficiently. Although I must reiterate, whoever constructed your present form is guilty of the most shoddy construction."

Camus smiled wryly. "I'd noticed. I'd appreciate your having a professional word with them if you ever have the chance."

"Hmph hmph. I doubt that shall come to pass, my dear, ah, 19683."

He glanced sideways at the guards. Use of personal names between prisoners - on the rare occasion that they should come together - was discouraged, often severely. The doctor's guard glanced at the clock on the wall.

"All right, 19054. Time's up. Cut it short."

"Very well." The doctor turned back to his patient. "I have left instructions to have our program of treatment continued after my departure tomorrow. I can only hope that the management of this institution is humane and foresighted enough to do so."

"As do I." Camus reached out and shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you all you've done."

"It is nothing. We are of a kind, 19683. We must provide for others like us, or no one else will... All the best of luck to you."

"Same to you, 19054. You know where they're taking you?"

"No. But I confess, I am not optimistic. Good bye, my friend."

"Until we meet again, doctor."

The guard reattached the doctor's handcuffs. None were used on Camus - he could pull the apart too easily. Another guard knocked on the door; a series of bolts were drawn back from without, and it opened. The two prisoners were led back to their cells, Camus in one direction, Dr. Brandin Marlowe in the other.

One Week Earlier

Robyn Cheung walked into Hans-Raoul's office - as usual, without knocking - and Hans-Raoul nearly fell out of his chair.

Robyn
For Christ's sakes, it's only me. Will you settle down?

Hans-Raoul sat back and tried to look as if he didn't know what she was talking about. He failed.

Hans-Raoul
Sorry. I was, ah, concentrating on my spreadsheet.

Robyn
You were playing Arkanoid, I could hear it outside...

She crossed the room and sat on the edge of his desk, dropping the sheaf of papers she carried on his desk.

Hans-Raoul
What are those?

Robyn
Work orders for one of your stupid projects which probably won't work. Don't ask me which one, I just pass them on.

Hans-Raoul
Ah... thanks.

He reached out to pick them up, but she stopped his hand. He looked up at her.

Robyn
What's wrong?

Hans-Raoul
Sorry?

Robyn
You've been jumpy since New Year's.

Hans-Raoul
Just a lot on my mind... you know, all these stupid projects which probably won't work...

She let go of his hand, reached up and started fiddling with his hair. She'd figured out fairly quickly that he liked that, and it was a good way to get what she wanted.

Robyn
We both know you don't actually give a rat's ass about any of those. It's more than that. Come on, baby, spill.

He exhaled heavily and sat further back, out of her reach. At first she thought she'd failed, but then he gave her one of his "I'll level with you" looks.

Hans-Raoul
Have you noticed we haven't got a single call from the Comptroller's Office since the December?

Robyn
Yeah, I thought you'd be happy about that. They're not on your case anymore.

Hans-Raoul
Even after the Bob screw-up?

Robyn
So? Let me guess, the only thing worse than too much attention from the top is none at all, right?

Hans-Raoul
Something like that.

Robyn
Forget it. If they were unhappy, you'd know. You'd probably be dead, for one thing. Okay, Mr. Demi-God, they'd have tried to kill you. You haven't missed any assassination attempts, have you?

Hans-Raoul
No. That's what worries me.

Robyn
You're paranoid. I find that very erotic.

He glared at her. Okay, wrong approach...

Hans-Raoul
I'm not just being paranoid. Look - after the Philosopher's Wort fiasco, I got called up in front of the Comptroller Himself, and was told in no uncertain terms that if the Elementals weren't dead by December 31st, 2001, then I'd be killed. What followed was a year that was so spectacular in its ineffectiveness, I'm surprised I wasn't dodging bullets and poisonous snakes on my bell rope by Christmas. Now here it is the end of February 2002, and nary a peep from the Comptroller's Office.

Robyn
Damn. And the Comptroller doesn't make empty threats.

Hans-Raoul
Exactly. The fact that He hasn't even tried to kill me tells me something is very wrong.

She nodded. They regarded one another circumspectly.

Robyn
Okay... so how do you know it wasn't my job to kill you, and now I've fallen in love with you and can't bring myself to do the job?

Hans-Raoul
Because (a) you're not in love with me, you're just using me for your own nefarious purposes...

Robyn
True.

Hans-Raoul
... and (b) if that was the case, then you'd be dead, and somebody else would be trying to kill me. Oh, don't think I haven't wondered if our involvement hasn't been connected to this. I've wondered if the Comptroller doesn't think that you're a far more effective weapon than anything else He could use against a creature like me. But frankly, neither I nor, I suspect, the Comptroller, thinks you're quite that dangerous.

Robyn
I think I'm insulted.

Hans-Raoul
Don't be. No, I doubt it has anything to do with you. I've formed a few tentative conclusions, all of which worry me, but honestly I'm not sure what's really going on. And that's what worries me most.

Robyn
Well, jumping like a startled rabbit every time the door opens isn't going to help any. If they could kill you by just walking through the door, they would've done it before now.

Hans-Raoul
I know...

Robyn
I won't tell you not to worry. But my guess is that the Comptroller has decided that you're still useful to Him, and that He's holding off for that reason. And judging by the types of James Bond-rejects He hires, I'm sure He'll tell you all about it before too long.

Hans-Raoul
I know. So I should just relax and make sure I'm prepared.

Robyn
Exactly. Now come on, sign these and take me out to dinner.

He nodded and started flipping through the papers.

Hans-Raoul
Where do you want to eat?

Robyn
We need to be seen someplace trendy. And expensive, you owe me for implying I'm not dangerous.

It was nearly two hours later that Hans-Raoul returned to the office after dropping Robyn off. He had resisted her invitation to come in and be paranoid, as he wanted to look over some transparencies for a meeting the next day.

He unlocked his office door and stepped inside. The office was dark - someone had shut off the lights and computer screen after he and Robyn had left. The door creaked as it began to swing shut, and by the time it had clicked shut, the man hiding behind the door was on the floor, dead.

A low chuckle from behind the desk caused Hans-Raoul to whirl around. His high-backed desk chair was facing away from him. Someone appeared to be sitting in it.

Hans-Raoul
Mr. Comptroller.

A deep whisper answered him.

ICBC Comptroller
Hello, Mr. Galerkin. Please, stay precisely where you are. You will not survive an attempt to approach the desk.

Hans-Raoul
Yes, sir.

Hans-Raoul waited. After an overlong pause, the voice continued.

ICBC Comptroller
After your conversation with Ms. Cheung, I believed it was time we had our own discussion. You have noticed that you are still alive.

Hans-Raoul
Difficult not to, sir.

The Comptroller chuckled.

ICBC Comptroller
I have not forgotten our last discussion, Mr. Galerkin. However things -- have changed, in the interim.

Hans-Raoul
In what way, sir?

ICBC Comptroller
Mr. Galerkin... you have been very industrious this last year. Despite its early failure, the Ballistier project has turned out to my satisfaction. More importantly, you have shown great creativity in the number of projects you have initiated to kill Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy. All of which have failed in the planning stages.

Hans-Raoul
Yes, sir.

ICBC Comptroller
They have failed because I wished them to fail.

Hans-Raoul suppressed any outward sign of surprise or annoyance. The possibility had not occurred to him...

Hans-Raoul
Sir?

ICBC Comptroller
At first, Mr. Galerkin, I foiled your attempts simply for my own amusement, and in order to push you towards bigger and better things. However, our organization's position has changed significantly in the last six months. It is no longer in ICBC's best interests for Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy to die.

Hans-Raoul processed this information. Of course, the reason was obvious now that the fact was pointed out to him... however, he played dumb for the Comptroller's sake.

Hans-Raoul
I'm not sure I understand, sir.

ICBC Comptroller
We had information in mid-July that Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy were being considered for seats on the Justice Council. This appointment became reality, as you know, during the so-called Zxanxi crisis.

Hans-Raoul
I fail to see the connection, sir. Surely their new importance makes it all the more important that they be eliminated...

ICBC Comptroller
Quite the contrary, Mr. Galerkin. Consider that our organization is widely known in the underground community as one of Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy's quote-unquote "chief villains". When you are the chief villain of a member of the Justice Council, Mr. Galerkin, terrorist and criminal organizations across the globe will literally line up to give you money. Ask the late Aeolus Scorch. Outside investment and collaborative partnerships have boomed since the Elemental's appointment. That's very important to us in these difficult post-Melbourne and 9/11 times.

Hans-Raoul
Ah... perhaps it would have been appropriate to send my department a memo to this effect, sir?

ICBC Comptroller
No, Mr. Galerkin. The fact that your position has been made effectively redundant does not let you off the hook for your previous failures. You still failed to do what you were hired to do, and redress must be made.

Hans-Raoul
May I remark that your presence here, sir, and my continued existence, implies that you have some way in mind that this can be accomplished?

The Comptroller laughed. Hans-Raoul was surprised how unnerving he found the sound.

ICBC Comptroller
Your convoluted attempt to be deferential aside, Mr. Galerkin, yes, that is certainly the case. Your department's focus will be shifted to minimizing any damage that the so-called Covalent Crusaders and their allies do to our interests. Whether you will be heading the department depends on whether you can complete two simple tasks - firstly, secure the liberty of Dr. Brandin Marlowe, and secondly, bring the Crustacean into our organization.

Hans-Raoul was again taken by surprise.

Hans-Raoul
It will be done. Although no one has heard from the Crustacean since the Zxanxi incident...

ICBC Comptroller
He has been in a non-communicative state since then. The process of resurrecting him was incomplete, and in his present state he is of no use to us. And the only man who can restore him to his former prowess --

Hans-Raoul
-- is the Mutant Maker. All right. But --

Hans-Raoul allowed himself a slight smile at his own hypocrisy.

Hans-Raoul
-- isn't it impractical to have a creature in the organization whose goal is to destroy the human race? Besides, sir, the Crustacean - even at his best - is a bit of an idiot.

ICBC Comptroller
He will nonetheless be -- useful, in some circumstances. You see, Mr. Galerkin, the Crustacean is Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy's other "chief villain". Having him within our organization --

Hans-Raoul
-- will double the incoming money. It all becomes clear, sir.

ICBC Comptroller
I'm very glad to hear that, Mr. Galerkin. You seem eager to undertake the task.

Hans-Raoul
I have some definite ideas as to how it could be accomplished.

ICBC Comptroller
Good. Remember, Mr. Galerkin, if you fail in this task, you will be killed. Do not expect a second reprieve.

Hans-Raoul
No, sir.

ICBC Comptroller
Now... I will show myself out. Good evening, Mr. Galerkin.

Hans-Raoul
Good evening, sir. And thank you.

Hans-Raoul waited an appropriate space of time before moving towards the light switch. He turned on the lights and then went to the desk. He turned the chair around -- it was empty, of course. It only took a moment's searching to find the miniature speaker in the upholstery.

He turned the speaker around in his hand and smiled. In contrast to his last meeting with the elusive Comptroller, this one amused him more than it infuriated him. The fact that the Corporation now wanted the Elementals alive made his life slightly more complicated, but he used the Corporation as more of a means to an end, anyway.

He crushed the speaker between his fingers and discarded it. He knew precisely how he would accomplish what the Comptroller asked - and he would get Hydrogen Guy to do it for him.

Dr. Emmanuel Lewis Hawking crumpled the pencil-covered paper in front of him and tossed it into an already overflowing waste basket. This, he thought, is getting us nowhere.

A loud crash behind him made him jump out of his seat. He tottered to his feet, and whirled to find his bookcase laid out on the floor, a large lump moving fitfully underneath it. He clenched his teeth and tried not to scream.

Hawking
PU... Wing... Fu.

The lump stopped moving. A high pitched voice answered back, trying its best to sound innocent.

Pu Wing Fu
Yes?

Hawking
What are you doing?

A long pause.

Pu Wing Fu
Looking for candy?

Hawking
And what led you to believe that there was candy in my book shelf?

Pu Wing Fu
Um... because it's not a fish-hook?

Hawking
Of course. That makes perfect sense.

He went to the over-turned shelf, and with a great deal of effort lifted one end so that the panda bear could squirm out from underneath it.

Pu Wing Fu
Thank you, Doctor Hawking!

Hawking eyed the bookshelf for damage. He shook his head and sighed.

Hawking
Pu Wing Fu, will you please tell Big Joe Switchboard to meet me in the drawing room, by the Crustacean's tank. There is something that I must discuss with them.

Pu Wing Fu
A meeting?

Hawking
Yes. There's going to be a meeting.

Pu Wing Fu
Will there be candy?

Hawking
I believe there is a jar of jelly-beans in the drawing room.

Pu Wing Fu
Not anymore. I ate it.

Hawking
You mean you ate them.

Pu Wing Fu
No, I ate it. The jar looked so tasty, I thought, why bother taking the jelly-beans out?

Hawking
Fine. Then, no, there will not be any candy.

Pu Wing Fu
So the meeting's a fish-hook.

Hawking
JUST GO!

Pu Wing Fu
Eep!

A short time later, the principles were assembled in the drawing room of Hawking's recently re-opened family home on the Torradan island of Baratria, in the Mediterranean Sea.

Big Joe Switchboard, the Crustacean's former muscle-man and phone specialist, was sprawled across the sofa. Pu Wing Fu sat perched on the other end of the sofa, munching happily on a piece of bamboo which he had given her to staunch her continual requests for candy.

On the opposite wall, facing a large oil painting of Hawking's maternal grandfather, was a recently-installed sixteen foot aquarium. In addition to several pieces of specialized equipment, its interior was decorated with a small portion of a coral reef, several large stones, a variety of plants, a rich layer of mud, and a miniature deep-sea diver. All of this was for the convenience of its occupant - the Crustacean.

Hawking tapped softly on the glass. A pair of beady eyes peaked out of their burrow, and then slowly the Crustacean followed. He made his way towards one of the specialized pieces of equipment - one with funnel-shaped appendage similar to the mouth piece of an old-fashioned telephone. This was a device Hawking called "the vibraquaphone", essentially a device which allowed sounds originating from outside the aquarium to be transmitted to its occupant, and, far more technically difficult, to translate the weak noises made by the Crustacean's mouth-parts into something resembling speech. Nearby was an LCD flat-screen which was part of another device of Hawking's design, which translated images from an external camera into images the nearly-blind Crustacean could more easily interpret. The Crustacean was now staring blankly at it -- it was odd, thought Hawking, that although his lobster features before his demise and resurrection were no different than they are now, Hawking could no longer read the Crustacean's "facial expressions". From past experience, however, he assumed that the Crustacean was probably glaring at him.

Big Joe
So what's up, Doc? You finally got some results for us?

Hawking
No. That's what I asked you all here to discuss.

A crackling sound came from the vibraquaphone. Not identifiable speech, but a noise of disgust. Hawking plunged ahead.

Hawking
Since Pu Wing Fu found me in the jungle of Welsh Guiana, I have been attempting to first translate, then comprehend, and then finally utilize the files and notes of the Golden Claw to produce the enhanced version of the process which created the Claw and the Crustacean, in hopes of restoring to the Crustacean the senses and abilities he had in his original body. The Claw claimed that while the process invented by my ancestor, Dr. Erik Von Vorpalstein, took years to create intelligent super-lobsters from an undefined protein broth, he had perfected the process to the point where it would take merely weeks. Although the Claw had not actually performed the experiment himself, I had great hopes that I would be able to adapt the process to achieve a less ambitious result, altering the Crustacean's current mundane form into that of a super-lobster. However, I have finally reached an unpleasant but unavoidable conclusion: I cannot do it.

Another series of sounds emanated from the vibraquaphone, and this time it was possible to discern distorted words.

Crustacean
kkkkk way kkkk way fookkkkk

Hawking smiled.

Hawking
You ask why, and call me a fool... You may be right, Crustacean. My talents lie less in the area of bio-engineering that was my ancestor's specialty, and more in gizmos like the vibraquaphone and the Clock of Radishes. However, the difficulty I have encountered is similar to Vorpalstein's, which led to the absurdly long stochastic dwell time of one hundred years in your original creation. Simply put, the calculation necessary to derive the correct Lyaponov exponents is too intractable. Vorpalstein made many broad assumptions which simplified the calculation at the expense of accuracy, and ultimately time; he admits in his diary that he did not think a more general calculation would ever be achievable, even by the likes of his most brilliant contemporaries, the Hogalum Society. He later was able to dispense with several troublesome simplifications, enabling him to create the Golden Claw within his own lifetime. But the process was still far too long to be practical. The Claw's notes, although very precise in terms of improved generation technology, offers only vague hints as to the mathematical side of the problem. I fear that the problem was simply too trivial for the Claw, and that for that reason he did not see it as necessary to record all the details.

Pu Wing Fu
OW!! Science hurts my brain!

Big Joe
Yeah, Pu's right, Doc - cut the egghead talk and get to the point.

Hawking glared at him.

Hawking
May I remind you, Switchboard, that I am employed by Pu Wing Fu and the Crustacean alone! You are here on my sufferance because Pu Wing Fu requested it, and because you are by far easier to communicate with. Do you want me to put you back where I found you, Switchboard? UNEMPLOYED? In GREENLAND?!

A confused look came over Joe's face.

Big Joe
I wasn't unemployed in Greenland, I was runnin' protection for Nortel in Ontario!

Hawking looked sheepish.

Hawking
Sorry. It's just I've always wanted to say that. Still! My point remains!

Crustacean
kkkkkkeeee klkyoolate kkkkeeeI!

Hawking shook his head.

Hawking
I have no doubt, Crustacean, that the calculations would prove just as trivial to you as they did to your brother. But your current state makes communicating both the problem and the solution with the necessary precision all but impossible. There is, however, another possibility. There is one man to whom the calculation might prove tractable - in fact, judging by what I know of his work in bio-engineering, he may have solved similar such problems in the past.

Big Joe
Who?

Hawking
Dr. Brandin Marlowe, known as the Mutant Maker.

Big Joe
You mean Captain Toronto's guy? Sorry, Doc, but he's doing life in the Soil.

Hawking
So I discovered when I first made inquiries several months ago. However, a former associate of mine from ICBC contacted me this morning and told me that Marlowe is being moved to another institution in a week's time. We have been offered support in the form of firepower and running interference from the Corporation, should we choose to waylay the Mutant Maker's caravan during the transfer and liberate him.

Pu Wing Fu
Waylay! That means KILL!

Hawking
Indeed it does, Pu Wing Fu.

Big Joe shrugged.

Big Joe
Sounds good. Better than sittin' around here for another month, or shakin' down semiconductor start-ups. Whaddya think, Crustacean?

Hawking watched his nightmare of the last few years, now employer and patient, carefully. The Crustacean stayed silent for a long time. Switchboard had said that the Crustacean had always been wary of getting too close to the Corporation, up until the collaboration to kill Hydrogen Guy, which had instead killed the Crustacean.

Crustacean
kkkkkkkk kkkkk yesk kkk nokkk kkoice kk

Hawking bowed slightly towards the aquarium.

Hawking
Excellent. I'll contact my associate and begin making plans immediately.

Pu Wing Fu
Yay! Crustacean's going to be back to normal again!

Crustacean
kk kk kk.

He scuttled backwards into his burrow.

Deuterium Boy was curled up on the love-seat in the lounge area of the Hydrogen Cave, reading a particular gripping article on absorption of excited-state nucleons by heavy water, when he heard a noise. It sounded like it came from the direction of the Hydrogen Garage.

When Hydrogen Guy strode in, looking pleased with himself, Deuterium Boy looked up with a puzzled expression on his face.

Hydrogen Guy
Top of the morning, DB!

Deuterium Boy
Do you ever get a really strong feeling of deja vu?

Hydrogen Guy
Sometimes. Why do you ask?

Deuterium Boy
It's nothing... what's up?

Hydrogen Guy
Not much. Cleared up the last of the paperwork in the Belarussian missile case.

Deuterium Boy
How'd you... you didn't drive here, did you?

Hydrogen Guy gave him a perplexed look.

Hydrogen Guy
No, Parker gave me a lift. He's just fussing with his car.

As if on cue - which, really, it was, pardon for breaking the fourth wall - Special Agent Jack Parker of the Super Heroes and Villains Department strode in from the garage. He was dressed in his usual button-down dark suit and trench-coat.

Parker
Damn street urchins and their cherry tomatoes... forget guns, how about a national registry of over-ripe fruit? Deuterium Boy.

He nodded brusquely.

Deuterium Boy
Special Agent Parker. This is a surprise. You haven't been to the Cave since... I don't think you've ever been to the Cave.

Hydrogen Guy
Once, a couple years before we rebuilt it. The little incident I wrote up under the name "Never Say Die Till Your Dead".

Parker
Could be. Can't say I ever read that stuff.

He sank down in a nearby armchair.

Deuterium Boy
So what's up, Parker?

Parker
Candex, price of a haircut, and Captain Toronto's blood pressure.

Hydrogen Guy
You interest me strangely. What's the story?

Parker
NAFTAPOL's asked that the Mutant Maker be transferred from the Soil to a lower security facility in Kingston - the Cloudy Falls Halfway House for Reforming Super-Villains.

Hydrogen Guy
Sounds cozy. Does it have a verandah?

Deuterium Boy
I can see why the Captain is peeved. He spent years trying to put him away, and when he finally does --

Hydrogen Guy
With our help.

Deuterium Boy
-- the fat git gets paroled after a bit more than a year?

Parker
Apparently Marlowe's devoted himself to improving the lot of super-mutants in the Soil. Become something of a humanitarian. But between you, me, and the rubber skeleton, gentlemen --

Doug
*gurgle*

Parker
-- the real reason is a bit of back-room deal-making. Some high-ranking members of ICBC's X Department - the illegitimate branch - came forward and offered to spill the goods on some of their own activities in exchange for Marlowe and a few other high profile types being moved to cushier surroundings.

Hydrogen Guy
What?

Parker
Allegedly it's part of their on-going efforts to turn 100% legit. From what I can find out, though, most of the dirt delivered was on money-losing operations.

Deuterium Boy
But NAFTAPOL fell for it.

Parker
Hook, line, and a bathtub full of ice. Trouble with that org is accountability. As the Big Blue Fromage is telling anyone who'll sit still long enough to blink.

Hydrogen Guy
Jeez, and they're not even turning the band up loud enough to drown out the guy yelling "TRAP".

Parker
Exactly.

Deuterium Boy
So obviously you think there's something we can do about it.

Parker
An inkling, gentlemen. A scheme of Toronto's... Marlowe's transfer's scheduled for a week Monday. Captain Toronto and a Mongolian horde's worth of SHVD and Soil guards will be escorting the Fat Man to his new digs. The Captain's idea is as follows - make a switch, one of our boys for Brandin, and hold the real thing back for a while. Then the three of us stuff the Mutant Maker in a van and make the real transfer incognito.

Deuterium Boy
The Captain et al act as decoys, eh?

Hydrogen Guy
Woo! Road trip!

Deuterium Boy
Why us, though, and not another Torontonian?

Parker
Because I'll be there, and because you two helped Captain Toronto bag the Mutant Maker in the first place.

Hydrogen Guy
He must trust us. That Captain Toronto, he's almost human sometimes, eh, DB? You up for the trip?

Deuterium Boy
Sure. Chuck War and I were going to go over some options for replacing the Tritium Truck next weekend, but we can put that off.

Hydrogen Guy smiled.

Hydrogen Guy
I wouldn't worry about that too much, DB.

Deuterium Boy looked at him suspiciously.

Deuterium Boy
What's that supposed to mean?

Hydrogen Guy
Oh, nothing.

Deuterium Boy
I'm getting that feeling again...

Hydrogen Guy
Parker, you may tell Captain Toronto to set two extra place settings, because we will be delighted to join him.

DRAMATIC MUSIC!

Next episode: The Diatomic Duo in the Big Smoke! The Mutant Maker on the Road! More Dramatic Music! Plus scenes you haven't read before!!

All in Part II of...

The Lobster and the Fat Man
Same Hydrogen Time... Same Hydrogen Website!