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The Continuing Adventures of Rack and Ruin - Story Thread
#21
Tibbs' eyes narrowed in an accusing look towards the nonchalant Vandalian laid beside the rifle and his big sidearm.
If Mucklebones' belief of demons had any merit -the small man thought, those devilish creatures resided in that altered
pistol because Ninurta's mind was too-scary of 'em.

Inwardly correcting his grammar, Tibbs continued with his story.
.................................................

With the quantum mechanics being finally understood in the Mainyu's universe, Ba'al's scientific bodies told him of the
theoretical  possibilities that other universes could exist. Thousands of years had passed and under the great Ruler's
hand, traditional sciences and esoteric religions had combined to offer evidence that Ba'al's hunger to become more
than the deities of worship, was nearing point of certainty.

Still, running a multitude of star-systems was no easy task. Generations of of his family had assisted and sometimes
when the last of the ambassadors and emissaries had left the Palace and the sun that warmed his planet of birth had
moved low in the sky, the imposing emperor-of emperors would muse on what may lay outside of this reality.

Priests would timidly speak of heavens and enclaves of Gods, scientists would relate possible dangers of entering
places unimagined and meeting monsters without conscience. And all the while, Ba'al would listen to these serious
articulations until his own inner-voice drowned them all out, that mocking murmur that burns in all great beings souls.

'Will you never meet him...? Will the bars of this cage prevent your confrontation?'

Great Sages from Bylazcka had told Ba'al that somewhere out there in the unseen firmament was a mirror of himself,
a being as great as he -although they never said that part specifically and the sole reason was that nobody can walk
alone, nobody is ever truly only one.

Those seven wise men never made it back to their home-planet for some reason.
Time moved on.

Huge powerful empires placed strategically across the thousands of galaxies enjoyed a rich and fulfilling existence.
Technologies eased the trillion-or-more citizens of Ba'al's dominion and war became a forgotten word. Death was rare
and a choice, disease became a mere ghost-story to be told by those who remember such days of physical ailments
and when the King gazed out at what he'd built, he saw that it was righteous.

But at night in his sleep, the same monarch-of-all would hear that taunting voice in his dreams, a jeering echo that
boasted that Ba'al was merely peerless because of his failings to fly higher, to find the one who waited on the otherside.
.................................................

When his scientists collapsed two whole star-systems, a wormhole-like aperture existed in their king's universe for
approximately several of our seconds. It was this that began the rejuvenation of what he proclaimed as 'The Final Mainyu'.

Leaving the billions that perished during the initial test -aside, the academics informed their majestic leader that evidence
indicated that another 'something' could-well lay beyond the short-lived rolling clouds of substance we call 'gas' and the fleeting
cascades of disappearing light.

With a verve last seen during his eons-ago pillaging years, Ba'al instructed his people to focus on this latest project, a new
way to be more than they are. Planets were emptied of populations and valuable resources, special facilities were hauled
across the cosmos to arrange experimentation and the very essence of the Mainyu people strained under their sovereign's
demands.

As information was gathered surrounding the crumpled remains of that part of Ba'al's domain, new materials were
discovered and physical particles existed where they never had before. Decades of examination and research began
and for a thousand years, the substances were analysed with hopes of understanding what might lay beyond that
ephemeral Delphic crack in space.

And during that chiliadal of time, that voice, that offending night-uttering in Ba'al's sandman-hours... went quiet.
.................................................

With the hour late, Tibbs decided that sleep -the action that the character in his story had struggled with, would be a wise
notion and assuring his audience of... he was sure Ninurta wasn't totally asleep, three -that the tale would be finished in the
light of day, he pulled his robe closer and bedded-down for the night.

The night-sounds continued with the campfire morphing into glowing embers and as the troop snuggled in the arms of Morpheus
-except for Boy In A Dress (which is a long story), images of snorting stallion-faced tyrants wearing golden crowns galloped along
the synapses of the sleeping Tibbs and Mucklebones.

Whether Ninurta browsed such shelves of baroque imagery isn't known, for that wide-rimmed hat wasn't for telling.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#22
Ninurta awakened next morning, and as was his habit he didn't stir until he had scanned the area around from beneath the brim of his hat. He never really slept thoroughly. There was always some sensory part of him sampling his surroundings, scanning for dangers, even in the deepest sleep he could muster. It had become habit when he had been mortal, and now that he wasn't, well, it was habit already.

Finally, satisfied that all was well, he stirred from his supine position and poked the fire back to life with some of the firewood that the Boy in a Dress had gathered the night previous. Mucklebones andd Tibbs were entwined in a lump of arms, legs, whiskers, and disheveled blanket, appearing to be pretty soundly asleep. BIAD was nowhere to be seen. Thinking back to their first meeting, Ninurta mustered a grin and decided the man-girl was probably out and about scaring up some food to be in place before the rest awoke. That one was all efficiency, in his own scatter-brained way. You just never knew what he would do next, or where his seemingly random thoughts sprang from. There was always a logic to those thoughts, but at times you had to really dig to find that logic... but it was always there. He merely thought in a different manner from everyone else, but the thoughts were always solid if one cared to dig deeply enough into them.

Ninurta rose, grunted, and set about making more coffee, lost in thought about Tibbs' fable of the night before. So "Old Horse-Face" had a mirror image, somewhere, did he? Generally speaking, a mirror image is exactly the same, but entirely reversed. Exactly the same, but exactly opposite. Ninurta filed that thought away for future use. If there were anything to Tibbs' Tale, finding that individual who was the mirror image of Ba'al would probably be a good idea. You don't fight fire with fire, you fight it with water. Having Ba'al's precise opposite on the payroll would be a good thing for anyone endeavoring to counteract his inimical adventures.

Then there was that business of destroying entire solar systems for just a few seconds of worm hole. Clearly, creating a wormhole under the laws of physics extant in Ba'al's dimension required a great deal of power. that's probably what kept the rest of the multiverse safe from his depredations. How would one ever get into such a universe... and perhaps more importantly, how would that one get back OUT? It seemed to Ninurta that because of those considerations, the rest of the multiverses ought to be fairly iron-clad safe against Ba'al - so why the ruckus?

Muckebones coughed and scratched an exposed part of her anatomy that had gotten thrown out from under the blanket, breaking Ninurta's train of thought. He fleetingly reflected that it was a good thing that Tibbs and Muckles had found one another. Tibbs, for all his genius, probably would not have survived the multiverses without Mucklebones' homespun brand of "street smarts".

If Ninurta were running the show in any hunt for Ba'al, he would first find Horse-Face's mirror image.  After that, Nin thought, the best way to stop an unstoppable horde was similar to the best way to stop a snake - you cut it's head off. Once any body of anything lost it's thinking and directional apparatus, the rest generally became useless, milled about, and then dissipated into harmlessness. So, after finding the mirror image, Ninurta would then figure out a way to find where Ba'al's breakthrough into another universe was going to occur, and he would then position that mirror image at that point and set an ambush to take out Ba'al himself. The followers would become useless and without direction after that.

The trick, of course, would be in locating the Mirror, and then locating the breakout point.

What he wouldn't do would be to go into Ba'al's home universe. That would be too dangerous, given the energy requirements to get back out again. One might get in, vanquish Ba'al in his own den, and then discover he could not escape that cage himself.

Ninurta shook his head as if to banish such thoughts. Why would he be planning a solution to a problem only found in a fable? It was just his way. When presented with a problem, he usually started planning a solution to set the universe back to right as "right" existed in his way of thinking. Just a habit, and one - like most of his habits - that he found difficult to shake away. The problems with Ninurta's plans always came in with his final solutions. Being drafted into the position of "god of war" by sheer happenstance, his solutions generally involved a lot of bloodshed and explosions. Like it or not, that sort of solution was usually terribly final. If it worked, it worked very, very thoroughly, and if it didn't, there was generally more bloodshed and explosions until it DID work.

Which almost always left a mess... but a solved mess.

Just as Ninurta was reaching to pour a cup of the now finished coffee, there was a tremendous crash somewhere behind him. Startled, he reacted as always - swiftly and with gun in hand by the time he had stood and spun to face the menace. The crashing noise had occurred as BIAD exited the spacetime craft and dropped a tray of what Ninurta presumed was unidentifiable foodstuffs.

BIAD was chasing an insect resembling a butterfly across the meadow in which they were encamped. Ninurta swore he heard the man-girl in the red frock gigging as he ran after the intruder.

Ninurta grinned, shook his head, and returned to the coffee pot. Eating could wait, he supposed. A man has to set his priorities, and at the moment his friend had set his in catching a flitter-fly.

.
Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king.

Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’


#23
In the dream-world of Tibbs, a centuries-old war was coming to an end. It was an icy-cold morning as the diminutive gore-
spattered Time Manager stood between the two leaders of the terrible conflict and watched as they cautiously reached out
their respective hands to acknowledge the abeyance that would save millions-upon-millions more from spilling their blood
into the battlefield's mire.

The landscape was covered with destroyed bodies, steam from the recently slain hung above the torn corpses like reluctant
ghosts and the smell of exertion and fear percolated with the scent of death everywhere. Midnight-feathered crows gingerly
pulled at skin and beaked soft-matter from sockets and wounds from a mise en scène that Dante would have applauded.

Jack Frost was trying to adorn the abhorrent scene with his white-glinting crystals and as the Vithian turned to once more
survey the horrors of what supposedly-civilised entities can do to one-another, the panting Boy In A Dress -who was carefully
bringing a tray of two goblets of wine towards the hesitant pact, stumbled and clattered his burden onto the...

With a jolt, Tibbs sat up and rubbed his weary eyes.

Through the knee-high grass and after placing his spectacles on his red-marked nose, he saw the same character from his
dream gamboling after a flying bug of some-sort. Slowly taking stock of his surroundings, Tibbs saw that his wife was stirring
from her sleep and the Gunman was treating himself to a mug of coffee coaxed from the flames of the rebuilt campfire.

Resisting a greeting that involved asking whether Ninurta had shot anybody yet, Tibbs murmured "Good morning" towards
the lean figure idly monitoring the Man-Girl's antics. The metal cup beneath the brim of his hat may have stifled a response,
but the slight nod was enough for the Vithian to accept an antiphon.

He didn't do it much, but Tibbs felt a light subconscious slap across his intellectual reasoning with a wee-voice adding that
he shouldn't look on the man before him in such an inflexible manner.

Ninurta travelled his road his way and even though some might think a certain favourable hand of cards had been given to
the grizzled loner, Tibbs could evenly answer those envious ones that Ninurta took from the immortal deck by simply using
his steel-will and determination to decide his path. His path, his way and God forbid anyone who blocked that trail.

It wasn't right that he should perceive the Vandalian in the way he spoke to him. Granted, most of it was done with levity,
but how many times had that strange weapon on Ninurta's hip spoken and how many times had its voice saved Tibbs?
Even in the harshest of realities, the man across from him that seemed at peace with himself would ratiionally fall under
the heading 'a friend'.
And those are far-and-few-between Tibbs solemnly concurred.

Mucklebones moaned that she was also surfacing from her own nursery of chimera and leaving the screaming hordes that
bayed for her stake-burning, she cursed them all and turned towards the place we seem to believe is 'the real world'.
"Ah' feel like someone's took a dump in me-mouth" she whispered and with her eyes still closed, she pushed her torso from
the flattened-grass she'd called a bed.

The high-moral and deep reflection of her husband fluttered away like the creature the Man-Girl was pursuing as he offered
a disapproving-look towards the odd-looking alien who had stolen his heart. "Please dear..." he hushed "...your language"
and leaned over to kiss where the alleged night-intruder had defecated.

Boy In A Dress returned to the squatting time-machine and collected the debris -or breakfast supplies, that he'd involuntarily
jettisoned to capture the blue-winged butterfly. The beautiful insect had out-witted its hunter by hiding itself among the bloom
of a stretch of bushes near the edge of the wood.
That cunning thorax of skinny legs and alluring flappers had known the petals of the florets were also blue, the foiled-BIAD
was certain of it and from under that mat of black hair, he surprisingly conceived a plan.

Adjusting the plucked flower that he'd placed in his cleavage, the weird hermaphrodite picked up the wax-papered bundles
and took them to where his companions resided. "Sorry about the noise" BIAD said apologetically and focused on changing
the contents of the parcels into a hearty meal.

"What's with the flower?" Muckles said after using a minute to gather herself. Her green poncho had doubled as a quilt for her
slumber and now,  ignoring the probable stares of lust from the males around her, she donned the well-worn carrier of her magic
-instruments and rose to clear her bladder.
"Tell me after I've had a pi... when I return" she corrected herself and smiled meekly at her frowning man. "Sorry my-love" she
added and wandered off to perform her ablutions.

BIAD fried bacon and after tipping a small portion of beans onto the three plates with the rashers, that seemingly-rarely-used
brain of his pondered whether a forage for staver-peas would have enhanced the meagre meal.
Ninurta took the grey-metal platter and muttered a thank you towards the grinning maniac-come-morning-chef.

The Witch of Carbiox and the Time-Herder addressed the situation in a similar manner and has Muckles tucked into the hot
fare, she lightly repeated her question about the indigo-toned blossom between Boy In A Dress' boobs.

Later, Tibbs would reflect on what BIAD said and ponder whether it's a natural phenomena when thinking-beings look for
resolution or something more mystical. Initially, the bearded-man in the monk's robes had looked on his wife's belief-system
as just another way of perceiving science from her less-sophisticated angle. But over the years, he'd have fallen off to sleep
in their bed with thoughts that there may be a mentally-whispered plan of numen, a way that speaks to the id in all of us.
But that was later.

Boy In A Dress placed three mugs -one a refill of course, beside the customers of 'BIAD's Diner' and related his Machiavellian
strategy. "It's all about bringing the prey to me instead of the other-way-around" he said softly with a faux-menace.
Ninurta silently wagered to himself that BIAD would once again, insinuate a path of rationale in his own bizarre fashion that
would not only succeed to acquiring his immediate quarry, but point a hypothetically-red-nailed finger towards their larger goal.

"...If the butterfly searches for these..." Boy In A Dress continued and pointed at the richly-painted foliage resting on his gravity
-defying bosom, he ended his speech with "...he'll fall into my trap and be mine" and stretching his crazy grin, waited for the
applause from his friends.

Mucklebones wiped her mouth with her forearm and cleared her throat. "What will yer' do with yon flutter-by when yer' catch
it?" she said, the plate was empty. The lack of a sober answer hinted that BIAD's plotting was also empty of a reason too.

"Well, I could..." he began and then turned his head to each of his listeners in his confusion, the logistics of the hypothesis
had enchanted the Man-Girl enough without contemplating the possible result.
"Er" was his next word before Ninurta rode to his rescue and Boy In A Dress' gratitude was obvious in the movement of his
tranquilizing shoulders.

"I think what our insightful cook is sayin' is that instead of racin' around the meadow in search of his goal, gettin' the thing
the butterfly wants the most is the smart thing to do" the Gunslinger said softly. "Maybe like findin' yer' Ba'al's supposed
indentical-twin?" he formed his last sentence as a query and aimed at the little man staring up at him.

"Billy-be-Jezzus" he's a smart-one is our BIAD..." Mucklebones said absently as she held out her empty cup towards the
now-beaming singularity of time and space. "...We can dry-ass this big-time hoss-head by usin' his own ego" she added
as the old crone accepted the refill.
.................................................


The last of the flames died as Ninurta kicked ash and some dirt over the area where they'd bivouacked and after checking that
no sign was left to indicate who'd spent the night in the meadow, he turned to watch Tibbs, Mucklebones and Boy In A Dress
pack the last of the campsite back into the cramped, spine-festooned machine that cheated time.

Tibbs had mulled on Ninurta's interpretation of BIAD's insect-catching tactic and after pressing some buttons on his enigmatic
handset he'd fished from his pocket, agreed that locating the 'mirror' of the Mainyu's leader would be an excellent plan.
They'd all had another cup of the cocky hermaphrodite's hot coffee and began to physically and mentally prepare to undertake
the idea.

Rolling a cigarette and picking up a smouldering stick, the Gunslinger blew a plume of smoke that wasn't too-distant from the
colour of BIAD's liberated butterfly. "Onwards, Ah' guess" he said to himself with a lop-sided smile.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#24
"Oh shit!" Tibbs hissed and glanced at his unusually-quiet wife for a scolding, the light bump of the time-machine
told the passengers that thirty-seven seconds had passed and that their new destination was here.
But from the Vithian's exclamation, it seemed it wasn't a desert-island on Vinigan or 'Happy Pauline's' in Pasadena.

Tibbs' small monitor displayed a scene of human work crews, a hovering dull-grey helicopter in the background and
two men in pale-blue jackets studying a piece of paper that the chopper's rotors were trying to snatch from their hands.
The jackets were emblazoned with lettering that said 'FBI' and if Tibbs' screen hadn't been sepia-hued, he'd have
seen the letters were in yellow. (Just put in for continuity-sake!)

"I thought nobody would bother us here..." Tibbs said and fiddled with some switches. "...We can't be seen, but we
could be detected" he warned as he scrutinised the busy escapade around the usually-serene Observatory.
The warning was only issued when the bearded-pilot noticed Ninurta reach for his rifle and check its load.

Sunspot -New Mexico had been suggested by Mucklebones after consulting the hessian sack of small bones that she
kept inside her poncho. This revelation had come in the early hours of the previous morning in the meadow, although
technically, it was 2.15.pm in the afternoon at their present location.
Anyway, it was Muckles' fault.

Why a US Federal Task Force was investigating a lonely telescope facility and struggling tourist trap must have been
omitted-information from the clumps of cartilage that the great Witch carried with her and this might explain Muckles'
cursing under her breath. 'Mother-something' was all Boy In A Dress heard.

The same eyeless-being carefully opened the hatchway door and peered out at the dust-raising commotion, men in
overalls hung from antenna towers and confused Observatory employees mulled around near the desert stone walls
that marked the entrance. "Why can't they see us?" BIAD asked and opened the door wider for all to see.

With a grunt of exertion, Tibbs stood up and joined the Man-Girl, Muckles and Ninurta crouched around the opening.
He paid particular attention to the jutting rifle barrel that also accompanied the viewers. The continuing bedlam across
from where the time-machine stood conjured several scenarios in the Vithian's mind and one of them was that
somebody was possibly tracking them. But it meant that whoever that unknown was, he-or-she could manipulate time
as well. Tibbs didn't like paranoia and decided to leave that puzzle alone for now

"We're not here in the sense that our vibrational frequency is different to Earth's constancy, we're out of sync with
those fellas and buildings" Tibbs muttered indifferently and checked his handset for some insight. Mucklebones
sighed her annoyance of the situation and without consulting her allegedly-intellectual spouse, leapt out of the craft.

"If'n yer' silly box o'tricks cannot tell yer', ask a Policeman!" she called back over her shoulder and arranging her
poncho in a more revealing fashion, the tenacious crone strode off towards the pointing-and-order Government men.
The helicopter wheeled away bringing up a cloud of red dust that shrouded everything for a few seconds and that
was all Mucklebones needed to birth her spell.

"Cool!" BIAD said as the desert-dirt slowly cleared and he saw a bookish middle-aged woman clutching her cardigan
closed with one hand whilst attempting to stop the down-draft from relieving her of a pair of horned spectacles with her
ring-less other.
Mucklebones the spinster data-clerk wanted to know what the hell was going on.

"Excuse me Officer..." the prim lady in the knee-length pleated skirt said, "..But I have several daily tasks to conclude
and this... this interruption tempts moratorium" she added pushing her glasses up her pointed nose.
Tibbs sighed just as his wife had earlier, but this time it was with pride. "Look at her go" he said to himself.

The FBI agent looked around from the schematics he had in his hand and stared at the prudish bookworm who had
failed to follow an order. He was about to tell his fellow team members to search the basement area of the building
once more and maybe check out the janitor's quarters, it could be that the aliens had hidden in there.

"Ma'am, you're going to have to go back to the entrance way, this is an official investigation and you're disturbing the
process" Special-Agent Elliott Combs said and expressed his authority through his tone. A quick glance at another
agent -who's name escapes me at this moment, caused him to step towards Muckles in order to escort her back
outside the taped-perimeter.

"Touch me and you'll lose that f*ckin' arm" the alien-sorceress projected into the mind of the striding buzz-cut-haired
man in his twenties. The agent stopped in his tracks and at the same time, Muckles' three fellow passengers of the
time-machine burst out laughing.
An rare event -even for the GunMan as Tibbs noticed in his mirth that the rifle had lowered from his initial position.

"Easy Mister..." the unmarried macrame-loving auditor said "...I was only worried that my prized-cactus may possibly
be damaged in your tumult" and the young agent swivelled his head towards his superior.

Later, when the FBI groups would spend a couple of nights in a nearby motel, this same official would swear that at the
same time he halted, he saw a gnarled old woman in a dark rag with a misshapen head. Of course, that kind of weirdness
belongs in fictional writings and so he never told anyone.

"Sir?" he mumbled and drew a frown from his boss, Combs had no time for delicate dealings because of gender.
Rolling up the plans of the Observatory's layout, Special Agent Combs closed the space between himself and the
cock-sure secretary and allowed his annoyance to be shown on his face.
Which was what Mucklebones wanted.

"I will notify you once more Ma'am and if you do not vacate the area, this agent..." Combs pointed sharply at the kid
who'd failed in his duty, "...will arrest you and you'll be taken away for questioning".

Taking in the last of the information from the fuming official, Muckles released her mental foraging probe and dropped
back into character. "I apologise Sir, I realise you've an important task here and I wish you well with your endeavour"
Bowing slightly, Muckles turned to leave -but as her gaze left the two FBI, she mumbled something in a language never
heard on this planet.

A large van belonging to the domestic intelligence and security service of the United States blocked the view of the
retreating woman's path, Special Agent Elliott Combs and Agent Anderson Cooper suddenly contracted urinary incontinence,
the involuntary excretion of urine and their focus moved elsewhere.

"They're lookin' for aliens and they'll find porn on the janitor's laptop..." Muckles grumbled as she climbed back into her
husband's invention. "...Whatever yer' lookin' for here, is gone" she added and smiled at the three men admiring her.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#25
The man with the gun on his hip waited for Tibbs to drum-up a fake reply to his question and then when he felt
there was no more benefit to his cigarette, crush it out under his boot and with relish, use violence to draw the
real answer from the little lying Vithian in front of him.
And Tibbs knew it.

"It's complex and involves Earth" he said and offered his best-winning smile to his taller compatriot. Ninurta
dropped the smouldering stub onto the tarmac of the desolate runway and with wide-eyes, Tibbs quickly added
"It's where Ba'al comes through next"

Mucklebones was staring out towards the faint shape of a Control Tower and seemingly humming to herself,
whilst Boy In A Dress idly wandered amongst the calf-length grass that bordered the cracked asphalt with -what
we can only guess at, were his own thoughts.

Tibbs tinkered with his handset and then placed it back in the pocket of his robes, his own gaze was at some dark
approaching dots that were forming in the haze of the overcast morning. "If you'll be so kind, I'll do the talking" Tibbs
said earnestly without looking at Ninurta and carefully checking his beard for crumbs, he prepared himself for meeting
the thirty-third President of the United States of America.

If Boy In A Dress and Mucklebones had involved themselves in the discussion on the tarmac, vital information may
have been missed due their appearance. Hence, they sat in the grass near the time-machine and let their companions
acquire what they could.

"I was found not too-far from here..." BIAD said to the Alien-Witch busying herself with a handful of rune stones and a
withered feather. "...And around this time-zone too" the Man-Girl continued and glanced over at the group of men
in deep consultation. A light breeze ruffled the remains of Muckles' quill and BAID's hair.

Breathing in deeply, Mucklebones ended her own deliberation with her hocus-pocus and dragged her attention to what
the creature she believed was a demon -was saying. "Yon fellas think they've got a handle on the job, but there's..."
Muckles began and then looked towards where the human called Truman was speaking with intensity. Boy In A Dress
followed his friend's wide-eyed gaze.

On the left of where Ninurta stood, a braided-uniformed man looked uncomfortable, but kept his attention on what
President Truman was saying. Beside him, a flamboyant gent with a shock of white hair and a dress-sense that
smacked of the faux-mysticism that many humans used for fame, was attempting to see who was sitting next to the
spine-covered machine.

There was another man in a light-grey suit standing behind the President and skimming a bored foot through the gravel
of the Holloman base's runway. The discussion was heated and BIAD wondered if the seriousness of the situation was
truly understood. Not that he fully grasped it.

The poncho-wearing sorceress whispered something that BIAD missed and she seemed to be in a world of her own.
"What is it?" asked the bare-thighed anomaly.
"That one there... he's... he's not the same as the others" Mucklebones muttered and closing her eyes, she looked either
as if he was concentrating or she needed to use the lavatory. The confused BIAD tilted his head and waited for a possible
explanation.

"All I need is your people to..." Tibbs began in his mitigation to the powerful leader and then faltered. The eyes behind the
little-round spectacles looked distant and Tibbs' fingers fumbled with the tip of his beard. Ninurta watched the scene and
pondered the idea that a sniper was at work somewhere. "You okay?" he drawled and scanned the surroundings, he'd
earlier cautioned Tibbs about being out in the open like this.

Then as the Time-Manager's features broke into a smile, it seemed the atmosphere eased to such a point that even the
Gunman felt the change. "I think we can find an accord Mr. President, there's a way of finding our answer and it's with us
right now"

The man with the hair that was whiter than Tibbs' beard stepped forward and with a smile that also rivalled the smaller
person, introduced himself. "My name is Gerald Light and I have interacted with the ethereal before" he said with pride
and bent down to shake the Vithian's hand.

As Mucklebones opened her eyes and gazed towards where the hopes of the planet called Earth were being sorted,
she offered Boy In A Dress a rare smile of her own. "Watch this" she whispered and patted the red-nailed hand of the
oddity beside her.

"Not you..." Tibbs sneered and walking past the frilled-cuffed fop who thought he was a clairvoyant and ignoring the
gawking Navy Commander, the shuffling dwarf aimed his stare towards the quiet man who looked out of his depth.
"You... who are you?" Tibbs asked.

The guy who looked like he may have been a boxer in his past stared warily at the creature in the brown robes and
then sought assistance from his confused President watching the scene. "He's my Secretary of Defence..." Truman
announced "...what do you want with him?"

Tibbs soaked in the features of the startled official and waited for him to identify himself, here was the key to the whole
damned mission. " Er... my name is James Forrestal and I'm sure you've got the wrong person" he answered and a grinning
Tibbs reached to shake his hand.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#26
"He is one isn't he?" Mucklebones asked as she walked towards the scared man who'd separated himself from his two companions.
Forrestal's eyes widened at the horrible sight of the creature in the green cloth wading through the grass towards him, which was
only fair due to President Truman and Navy Commander Stigison offering the same type of terror-stare.

"What on earth is that?!" Stigison exclaimed to nobody and with a quick glance at the astonished men, Muckles replied "That's Boy
In A Dress and I know he's an ugly bugger, but he means well". Tibbs' chest swelled with pride at his approaching wife's repartee.
For himself, BIAD just wandered behind the sharp-tongued Witch and checked the ground for gopher holes.

President Truman realised his control had wavered and prepared to walk towards where the Vithian and his seemingly frightened
Secretary of Defence stood, but Ninurta stepped in his path and growled "A smart fella would just give 'em a minute or two".

The ugly firearm was still nestling in the holster of the stoic man with the easy stance, but Harry Truman hadn't reached the pinnacle
of power without knowing when to recognise a harnessed menace when he saw one. And this guy had it in spades.

The President looked for assistance from the dark-uniformed man at his side and realised there wasn't any. Gerald Light seemed to
be in a world of his own and just stood in his fancy-togs and grinned.
"That's a real alien" the ostentatious occultist and alleged spirit-communicator murmured, probably to himself.

Mucklebones arrived beside her husband and surveyed the trembling figure named James Forrestal. The Witch realised it would be
difficult for Tibbs to see, but her initial suggestion was correct, he wasn't human. "Whey-yer' bugger, he's well-hidden" she whispered
and nudged the Time-Manager affectionately.

"Wha... what do you want with me...?" Forrestal stammered and with his eyes, pleaded to his superior to step in and annul the terrible
nightmare. "... You better stay away -you demons" he warned and then frowned his puzzlement as the two strange creatures broke out
respective genuine smiles.

"HE'S the bloody-demon, that sod there" Muckles chuckled and jammed a grey-skinned thumb towards the red-dressed figure gazing
down into a burrow he was sure a gopher had just peeked from. BIAD wondered if it would pop out again if he was quiet.
Forrestal carefully shifted his gaze from the freaks before him and looked at where Boy In A Dress was bent forward in concentration.
"The lady is a devil?" he asked softly and brought his focus back from the bearer of the revealing cleavage to the dwarf-monk and the
monster in the green poncho.

Tibbs took out his ever-faithful handset and played with a couple of buttons, an act that could later offer evidence that what we know
is what we believe to be true. "Jumping-Jehoshaphat, you're right my love... he's a Wose" the Time-manipulator declared and seem to
absorb himself in the information that the handset displayed.

Muckles sighed dramatically and shrugged at Forrestal, "scientists...what can yer' do wiv' 'em, heh?" she chirped and it seemed for a
moment, the tension had eased. Forrestal even attempted a reciprocating smile, though it was a small one.

From a couple of yards away, the two conservative men and the brooding Gunslinger watched the interaction on the tarmac until their
attention was interrupted by the well-endowed being with the long fringe appearing in front of them.
"Hello..." Boy In A Dress said politely and then turning to face the GunMan, he reported "the gopher never came back"
At this point, the reader can decide whether Ninurta broke-out a look of horror at the announcement or just offered his cold-blue eyes
as an example of his concern for BIAD's situation. Answers on a postcard please.

The next part would be something the hesitant Secretary of Defence would ponder on later when he was safely back on Air Force One
and seated away from the window. He hated flying and believed if Jesus had wanted us to fly he'd have given us wings.

"Take a walk with me" Muckles said coyly and carefully reaching for James' arm, she placed her own into the crook of his elbow and
slowly turned him towards the end of the desolate runway. It was still afternoon and the sun was still struggling to break through the
stationary grey clouds.

Tibbs sighed and ambled back towards his friends and the two official-looking humans, his focus was still on his handset's readings.
"Tell me what is going on..." President Truman demanded as he watched the advancing dwarf in the brown robes. "...My time is
precious and we're still no closer to discovering this imminent danger you allege" he added and buttoned his suit-jacket to show his
formality.

Straightening his own attire, Tibbs began to speak. "You may not be aware -although the last leader of this planet was told this, there
are forces in thi... the universe that on occasion, could have adverse activity that effects your way of life". As Tibbs cleared his throat,
he noticed the human called Gerald Light was nodding in agreement and with a glance towards Ninurta, he wondered if this irritating
gesture could be thwarted.

The emotionally-sparse Gunslinger stealthily stepped beside the condescending clairvoyant and whispered something into his ear
and if Tibbs had been asked what those hushed-tones may have sounded like, he'd have possibly remarked something like:
"If you don't stop noddin' it, 'Ah'll pull it off"
But that's just a guess, however Tibbs is an academic.

A further definition of Earth's oncoming woes was almost uttered by the bantam scientist when suddenly, he whirled around and
looked out towards the perimeter fence of Holloman Air Base and saw his wife looking back at him. Mucklebones and Forrestal
were still arm-in-arm, but the Witch had craned her neck to make sure Tibbs had received the telepathic message.
"DON'T TELL THEM ANYTHING"

Ignoring Boy In A Dress asking "why not?" the Vithian mustered his skills at obfuscation and arranged himself to look authoritative.
Ninurta stifled his lop-sided smile at the poor attempt of a bull-shitting stance, but said nothing. It had been a long time ago that he'd
given-up on working out the trio of people that kept dragging him back into a sortie of mayhem... considering the fact he could usually
generate his own.

"Er... during the next few years, there may be a incursion by... by unknown-outsiders to retrieve certain wreckage and synthetics you
have acquired from your interest in downed-craft..." Tibbs enunciated. "...I believe it is only fair to warn you of this" he supplemented
in a strong tone.

Commander Stigison snorted and answered that his 'people' were well aware of the situation and that this meeting was not only a waste
of the President's time, but also a waste of his own. The irony of wasting time wasn't lost on Tibbs and Ninurta, it was another of those
links that kept the Vithian faithful that his unfriendly-friend would never let him down and utilising the levity, helped towards keeping that
havoc-wreaking pistol in it's weather-worn holster.

"I flew all this way for that?" President Truman snarled, "Do you have any idea of how powerful our military is...?, any raids will be met
by the most aggressive antithesis any human -or alien race, can ever imagine" he said with a large dollop of pride.
'Tell them to ...." Muckles mentally suggested as she and James returned from their wanderings, but Tibbs ignored the message and
didn't get all of it anyway.
Anyone rarely looked to the Man-Girl for assistance, but if Tibbs had, BIAD would have said the directive ended with the word 'off'.
He was sure of it.

The next couple of minutes involved the apologetic politics of assuring the blue planet's health would be maintained and those that Tibbs
represented were looking forward to the day Earthlings would join the Space Federation. A ruse that the Vithian had used before.

Forrestal was kept between Stigison and Truman as they walked the mile-or-so back to where a jeep waited and the small troop of time
-travellers monitored the retreat. The New Mexico breeze blew again and Ninurta -a man who rarely repeats himself, laid a hand on Tibbs'
shoulder and said " Ah' think you've got some explainin' to do, fella".
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#27
"I... I didn't lie when I said it was complex" Tibbs stuttered as his little legs dangled a couple of feet from the ground.
Mucklebones was trying to wrestle with Ninurta's out-stretched arm to rescue her husband from his current predicament,
that of undergoing one of the GunMan's interrogations.

Boy In A Dress half-sat on an alleged antique dresser from the Tudor age and waved at Tibbs as his pleading eyes sought
assistance. Failing to override Muckles' cursing, the grinning Man-Girl suggested "Well, It might have helped if you'd told us
the whole truth".

"This ain't bullyin'... yer' know that, dontcha?" the voice from under the wide-brimmed hat asked and with that, the Vithian's
struggling ceased, the logic Ninurta had offered was irrefutable. It was around that time that the Witch of Carbiox wondered
if pulling Ninurta's pistol from its holster might be a big enough threat to get him to her release her man.
Sadly, the damned-thing wouldn't budge.

"If memory serves, t'was you who put the hex on it..." Ninurta whispered as he felt the tugging at his waist, his arctic gaze never
leaving Tibbs' face. "...And Ah' thank yer' fur' it" he added with a slight-smile. A moment later the robed time-traveller was back
on solid ground, be it a herringbone-designed flooring.

The full moon shone in through a cracked and grease-smudged skylight and the closed Auctioneers showroom that Tibbs had
brought them to afforded them at least, a portion of privacy to resolve their plight. That of what the hell is really going on.

The craft that had brought them to 1972 and the chamber that was once courtroom, stood near a stuffed Polar Bear that proudly
offered it's nicotine-stained claws and yellow fur brought on by central-heating. The bowler hat that was on its head would've
been the final facet in its humiliation, if BIAD hadn't removed it and balanced the dusty-headwear on one of the time-machine's
broken aerials.
Resisting the urge to step onto the seller's podium, Tibbs straightened his attire and with Mucklebones beside him, explained.

"We've been duped..." he stated and checked the demeanour of his small audience of two. "...Forrestal is not really a human
in the sense that you'd naturally presume. He's a Wose, an essence of the wild that is sometimes called upon to monitor a
technological-evolving species such as humans." Tibbs' tone was flat and with occasional glances towards his consoling wife,
he continued.

Ninurta had wandered over to a farmhouse table that had seen better years and carefully moving a light-faded milk Pitcher,
he leaned on the table's edge and listened intently. To know the battlefield is part of a successful plan, but to know who's
lined-up across that layout is far-more important.

"What surprised me is that Forrestal doesn't know he's a Wose" Tibbs said and patted Muckles' hand in regards of her
relating the information. " It's happened before and we have no idea how" he added, but this seemed to be towards himself.
"However, due to his lack of mental-human alliance and his political position, he'd discovered that this planet... and maybe
far more, has already been taken over."

Allowing his alien-wife to assist him in clambering onto a stained and slatted folding-chair, Tibbs went on with his story of quiet
hoodwink and subtle double-cross. "When first given this mission, I took the stance that our enemy would use dynamism that
involved violence and overwhelming numbers. I believed any trickery would be in the form of science and mystical illusion to
convince those who opposed the advancement that resistance was..."

Boy In A Dress called out "Futile?" and checked to see if the jape had gone down well. The lack of turning heads and laughter
certified that BIAD was being silly -and obvious, again.

The creaks of tired furniture and seasoned bric-a-brac breached the time-traveller's elucidation and the quartet's deliberations.
More information was needed and Tibbs was struggling to bring it. "But I was wrong..." he went on, "...due to the physical
differences in the Mainyu's make-up, I'm positing that a conquest in its usual manner wasn't possible and so..." Tibbs stopped
and looked to his spouse to further the commentary.

Mucklebones fingered the edge of her poncho and prepared her wording, the moon's glow made her skin seem alabaster and
to a vigilant Auctioner, would seem a decent bidding-piece. "And so, Ba'al and his minions came in at a different angle..." she
whispered "...the sly buggers invaded like ghosts possessing the weak-minded and used 'em to climb into positions of power"

The room went dark momentarily as a late-night cloud made its way towards where the sun was sleeping, the Witch used those
few seconds to let her statement sink in.

Closing the space between her and the Gunslinger and the unsmiling Boy In A Dress, Muckles warned "we're not stopping the
Final Mainyu -a force we believed would be Ba'al himself in a singular-form so great that the only way to defeat him would be
to catch him as he broke through the veil, we're now in a new mess. The bastards are already here".

Tibbs carefully lowered himself from the rickety-chair and approached the arena where Ninurta, the Man-Girl and his wife now
stood, the atmosphere seemed bleak. "She is correct... we're fighting things we cannot see" he said and silently castigated
himself for not adding any hope into his comment.

Boy In A Dress tilted his head for a second or two and then asked "well, why can't we go back to the time this first happened
and nip it in the bud -then?" If the question was deemed to have merit, the faces of his friends didn't reveal their recognition
of it. Tibbs turned to the bizarre and incongruous hermaphrodite and smiled benignly.

"It was a never singular point in time, it was a series of instances in various places across this planet that wouldn't have a
direct impact on their own, but as a passel, would lay the groundwork for another wave of Ba'al's ethereal intruders" he said.
Tibbs sighed then and wondered where they'd all be a thousand years from now.

Mucklebones wanted to go to him then, a being who prayed in the church of science and his worship was as fruitless as
asking BIAD to use underwear. The Witch looked at the varnish-missing herringbone design and absorbed her husband's
sadness.

Only the sound of a match striking against a Royal Doulton figurine plundered the melancholy in the room and later, in the
full-light of day, a browser would discover the china statuettes of Snow White and her seven Dwarves.
If that shopper examined the small diamond-miner called 'Grumpy' a dark scar would be seen across his forehead.
Maybe the sign of a troublemaker?

"We need to talk to this fella Forrestal..." Ninurta said -stoking his cigarette to life, "...That's where we'll make our start"
Tibbs breathed in slowly and felt a small flicker of hope, this was why he demanded that the Perfect Nine agreed to allow
the Vandalian to lead the assignment.
Coming through time was one thing, but coming through with an unfading determination was another far-more adamant billet.

"Aye, he's on it" Muckles hissed and for the first time in that shadowy hall, she smiled the smile of the cunning.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#28
@"BIAD" 
minusculeclap
Once A Rogue, Always A Rogue!
[Image: attachment.php?aid=936]
#29
For the whole of the next day, Tibbs worked away on the console of the time-machine and that pesky hand-set he
always carried. As Muckbones, Ninurta and Boy In A Dress watched his toing-and-froing from the spiky craft and
a picnic table where a large piece of paper rested, their individual thoughts roamed from the pragmatic to the
ridiculous.

Our four intrepid universe-saviours were enjoying the peaceful surroundings of a chilly -but bright Monday in a US
State Park. Not the strangest of locations -a reader may think, but this one had held more than just a passing
preference, it was where magic could still be harnessed.

Fairy Stone State Park in Patrick County Virginia, is known for its substantial deposits of staurolite crystals that
are commonly known to humans as 'fairy stones'. These minerals can be found in a cross-shape, a cruciform that
naturally occurs during it's formation.

To a religious person, this symbol obviously holds a meaning to those with Christian faiths, but for those carry
ancient wisdom as the Witch sitting at the camper table -did, this aggregate-design meant much more.

"Der' yer' need a hand there or canna' get on wiv' me summoning?" Muckes said as her muttering husband stood
over the map-like sketch before her. The whirring sound coming from his device told those sitting on the wooden
bench that Tibbs was deep into investigation.
"One moment, my Dear" he murmured without looking up and this drew a cursing sigh from the pensive alien in the
scruffy poncho.

Ninurta was tracing his finger along a pencil-line that Tibbs had recently added and frowned at the possible reason
why somewhere named 'Blanco County' in Texas was connected with a place titled 'Hobe Sound' in Florida.
The curious Gunman let his finger remain on the destination and looked over at where the Vithian stood, Tibbs' head
was at the same height due to Ninurta's seating.

Tibbs' gaze left the tiny display-screen of his handset and alighted on the cold stare of his menace-bound friend and
for a second, Ninurta saw how old this diminutive time-traveller really was. What sights, what changes and what high
strangeness this little man in the brown robes may have witnessed, was something that the Vandalian momentarily
pondered on.

"Johnson City..." Tibbs whispered "...a town where some of them came through" he added and was about to go back
to his calculations when the Gunslinger's well-lined finger moved to the line's other end, that of Hobe Sound.
Tibbs emulated his spouse's reaction to not getting on with their repective business and placed the handset down
on the weathered surface of the table.

"That's where Forrestal spoke to Robert Lovett" he answered and waited for another query from his audience.
Boy In A Dress raised a hand and the others wondered if the Man-Girl was going to ask one of his usual crazy appeals
or was this one of those rare occasions when BIAD offered something significant to explain this paper of puzzling lines
and cacographic scribble.

"I met Lovett once..." the grinning anomaly said and obeying Tibbs' suggestion that he could lower his arm, he continued
to say "he and a woman visited Los Alamos when I was staying there". Boy In A Dress grinned and looked to his cohorts to
see of if his comment was important. The blank features told him everything.

But it was the Vithian who saved BIAD from retreating back to his attempts to read the carved graffiti in the picnic bench.
This Kilroy-character certainly seemed to get around.

"Do you remember him ever mentioning anything called an 'Outer Space Treaty'...?" Tibbs asked carefully towards the
bare-shouldered hermaphrodite on the other side of the bench. "...Anything that sounded like that?" he added.
Boy In A Dress moved his fringe-covered face skywards as if in deep contemplation and after a quiet fifteen seconds,
Tibbs, Ninurta and Mucklebones went back to perusing the diagram that almost looked like a map.

"We're way-behind in this race and I'm hoping -by finding some shortcuts in the timelines, we can gain some ground"
Tibbs announced. "We're going up against forces that won't think twice about killing and we'll be impeded by duplicity
and guile".

Picking up his handset, the small bearded brains of the outfit read out what the screen held in the way of historical
facts about Forrestal. It wasn't much and it primarily explained the accepted surroundings of his mental breakdown
and his death.

The description of how James would throw himself from the 16th floor of the Bethesda Naval Hospital brought a
small gasp from the Witch that had discovered the original subtle coup, a coup so inconspicuous that Forrestal had
struggled to construct together, himself.

Muckles knew a lot more about this insecure man than was written in any epitaph or biographer's notes.
For one-thing, why he held the surname. The crafty-sorceress knew that is former title in another life was 'Loyalfellow'
and this was derived from his time as a true Wose living in a clan in... nope, the name alluded her.
But the 'Forrestal'-name held an inner-meaning to his origins, all Wose know this.

Mucklebones nodded towards her husband as he finished his account and without another word, stood up. Walking
towards where a small waterfall struggling in its endeavours to reach the stretch of water known as Fairy Stone Lake,
she called over her shoulder "It now seems Ah'm ganna need sum' big ju-ju fur' this one" and went off to do whatever
half-naked Witches get up to.

Tibbs smiled weakly at Ninurta -who was still scrutinising the large piece of paper and explained "She believes
we should better-equip ourselves for this mission" The GunMan didn't look up from his browsing.
"Rhanes!" BIAD said suddenly, "the woman who was with Lovett was called Aura Rhanes and she gave me some
candy" the proud Man-Girl relayed to the dwindled group.

As Ninurta took out the makings of a cigarette from his breast-pocket, he noticed the Vithian's face drain of colour.
"Oh shit-in-the-sugar-bowl, I never thought I'd hear that name again" Tibbs hissed and looked to where his wife was
searching for fairy stones exposed by the waterfall.

The sun twinkled on the running cascade as the love-of-his-life scoured the mud for magical minerals and Tibbs
pondered on whether a trip to 1952 and Nevada would help him. Truman Bethurum had met Rhanes and maybe,
just maybe, he could give them some insight to the wily bitch who Ba'al had always held in favour.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#30
Tibbs yanked his fingers out of the way as Boy In A Dress' hair avidly grasped the arms of the sunglasses.
He knew that the Man-Girl's tresses seemed to have a life of its own, but to feel the black strands coil around
one's hands in their effort to clutch the shades and then nudge a thumb out of the way for better purchase is
still unnerving.

"Do I look like her?" BIAD asked as Tibbs stepped back and allowed the disguised being stand to his full height
Inspecting the beret-wearing hermaphrodite, the small bearded man decided that his friend did look similar to
Aura Rhanes. "Yes" Tibbs answered and looked to the tall lean Gunman standing next to a stack of Coca Cola
crates for confirmation.

Ninurta scanned the red-dressed oddity with indifferent features, although somewhere in his mind, he did find the
scene humorous. "If this Rhanes-broad looks like a French Resistance spy, then yer've nailed it" he drawled with an
obvious tone of sarcasm.

Mucklebones slipped around the corner of the Diner and like a weird mantis, crept across the deeply-shadowed and
dirt-packed yard of the coffee-shop. "He's in there with two other men" she whispered loudly -and for no real reason.
Tibbs smiled and wondered how he would later advise his wife that at times, she could be over-dramatic.

The long leather coat finished the facade and Boy In A Dress treated his friends in the yard to a slow twirl, "What do I
say to this fellow?" he asked in his rotating display. Tibbs was busy tucking the hood of his robe away and allowing
Muckles to comb her fingers through his hair in an attempt to hide the length. After all, this wasn't an age when long
hair wasn't socially-acceptable in the small town of Glendale.

Just south-west of this town, Frank Sinatra and his brylcreem friends were showing the contemporary fashion in a
neon-lit Las Vegas setting, but for these four people hiding behind Jake's All-Nite Diner in the early hours of August
1952, such pursuits in dress-sense would certainly fail.
The burden of being the Outsiders, I guess.

"I'll do the talking..."Tibbs said pushing his wife's preening away. "Truman Bethurum will be more focused on trying
to impress his associates in order to verify his previous encounters with Rhanes. But I'll do the talking" he warned BIAD
with a serious look.

The Man-Girl in the calf-length black leather coat, black beret and knee-high black boots, just stood like a mannequin
in the desert night and his gun-toting friend across from him shook his head slowly.
"Where do yer' get all this gear?" Ninurta muttered and halted his hand from reaching for his makings. Igniting a cigarette
when in hiding wouldn't be a good idea, he mused.

Tibbs sighed through his nose at the distracting query and focusing on jamming his long beard into the front of his brown
attire, he let Mucklebones explain how the clothes were acquired. "That flyin' ball spews 'em out, Yer' just ask and it shits 'em
out the back" she said without looking at the Gunslinger and gave Tibbs a last once-over at his sparse wardrobe.

There wasn't the time to get into explaining that the time-machine held a multi-quantum access router on the hull behind its
single leg. This small box-like apparatus constantly monitored the visited time-zones and by using plasma-subdued anti-matter,
could generated clothing and fixed non-mechanical items.
But it didn't 'shit' them out.

The 'flying ball' in question stood behind the rear of Bethurum's pick-up truck and to Ninurta, the time-machine didn't look like
it held the capacity to hold a quantity of different clothes and footwear. "Think time and space... there's plenty of room" Tibbs
said towards the contemplating Vandalian and slipping on his own sunglasses, he turned to prepare for his acting role.
...................................


"I beg your pardon, lady, but haven’t we met before?” Truman asked as he leaned against the empty seats opposite from the
pair being asked the question. His work-mates -Whitey and Chad, had retired to Bethurum's vehicle due to their spoken fears
of being zapped by these two aliens Truman had talked about.

The reality was that the two men who shared the same shift as Truman were tired of his bullshit, but with living out at Henderson,
the use of Bethurum's truck demanded that Jan Whiteman and Chad Hunt kept their opinions on frigid spacewomen to themselves.
Sometimes it's easier to go along to get along.

"Eh fella, what you're doing back there?" Chad said as he was about to climb back into the truck. The stranger in the cowboy hat
was leaning against the wall that divided the diner from the closed gas station next-door. It was almost 3.00.am and to the burly man
who's father had built the Hoover Dam, he knew nobody delivered to Jake's at this hour.
Whitey glanced at his friend's concerned face and realised what was up, maybe it was tramp looking over the tools on the back of
the pick-up.

Smiling to himself, Jan Whiteman pondered that the night wasn't going to pan-out as a just a cup of coffee with the crazy bastard
who believed in gorgeous alien-women, maybe a kicking would improve the situation.
As Muckles receded into the shadows unseen, the two muscular men approached the solitary stranger who had made the poor
decision to not run away.

"This is going to be fun" Chad muttered from the side of his mouth to his co-worker.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#31
As the menacing pair approached Ninurta, leaning against the wall, Chad set his feet in a wide stance and offered the challenge once more. "I ast' yer what yer doin' there, fella! Don't ignore me, or you might get dealt with rough!"

Ninurta sighed, and - his cover blown - decided that a smoke would be permissible now. As he reached into his pocket for his makings to roll one up, he responded with "Mindin' my own goddamned business. I highly recommend it."

Chad's eyes widened a bit, and he edged a little closer before replying "You gettin' smart with me, fella? Are we gonna have a problem here?"

Ninurta finished biting the edge off his rolling paper - he preferred OCB papers, which didn't have the sticky gum to hold the rolled product together - then licked the ragged edge and stuck it down. Fishing a strike anywhere match from his pocket, he looked Chad in the eye - not failing to notice that the other guy, Whitey, was edging around to his side - and grunted out "Nope. I don't see anything here that could present any sort of problem at all" and struck the match with a thumbnail.

Chad snorted. "You don' think that the two of us could be a problem fer yer scrawny ass?"

"Nope" was the single word reply.

Several things then happened all at once. Ninurta lit his smoke, Chad lunged from the front and Whitey from the side. Ninurta flicked the still lit match at Whitey's head and with the other hand punched Chad in the throat. The he grabbed Chad by the scruff of his neck with his left hand and stuck his right leg out. Pivoting on his left leg, he swept Whitey's legs out from under him and continuing the pivot to his right deposited Chad atop Whitey in a heap.

Ninurta puffed his smoke surveying the heap, and said "That was disappointin'. Y'all git yer asses up an' let's try that again. Mebbe you'll have better luck nest time."

Obligingly, Chad arose gasping for air and Whitey arose muttering. Chad balled up a fist and took a jab at Ninurta's head, which was a mistake. Well, anything he could do at that point would have been a mistake, so the mistake he made was as good as any, Ninurta snapped his head to the side just enough to guarantee a miss, then grabbed Chad's wrist with his left hand and his upper arm with the right hand and twisted the arm up behind Chad, causing Chad to spin himself around to avoid the pain, until the fist was between his shoulder blades... then shoved him directly at the rising Whitey hooking Chad's ankles with the back of Ninurta's own ankle resulting in the pair being deposited in a heap again.

Ninurta took another puff. "Are y'all new at this fightin' thing or something? Git up! Try it again. I aim to keep ye at it 'til ye git it right."

At that point Muckles interjected with one of her stage whispers "why'nt ye jist shoot 'em?"

Ninurta shrugged and replied "Guns is noisy. Loud bangs might upset the delicate negotiations goin' on in yon bar." Then, to the heap of flesh on the ground, he said "Git the hell up! YOU were the ones lookin' fer 'fun' - where's yer spirit now? Iffen you don' git up, ahm gonna kick the shit out of you where you lay, ya nosy bastards!"

As the intrepid duo untangled their limbs from the heap and started to rise again, Ninurta kicked Chad in the face and sent him sprawling on his back, and then shot his boot into Whitey's ribs causing him to roll over grunting. "Well I reckon y'all ain't gittin' up fast enough to suit me" he muttered. "better git up quicker this time afore I beat you to goddamned death where ye lay."

Dutifully, the pair started to get up again, far too slowly as they nursed their bruises and such. Muckles again whispered harshly "They's just gunna keep coming if ye don't use yer gun".

Ninurta studied the pair struggling to arise and commented "Ah'll give 'em that. They ARE obedient pups!" as he drew his pistol at Muckles' suggestion. Instead of shooting them, however, which might have drawn a crowd, Ninurta grasped the weapon by it's barrel and squatted between the struggling pair. Looking at Chad, Ninurta said " 'Fun' my ass! Y'all ain't no damned fun at all! You'd best get back to the schoolyard an' practice 'till you can at least whoop a schoolgirl afore ye come back for any more. Nighty-night, now." and struck each on the back of their head with the butt of the gun, leaving them in separate sprawling heaps.

Ninurta, with Muckles' assistance, then wrested the hulks into the bed of their pickup truck and left them there to sleep off the beating. Returning to his post against the wall, Nin muttered "That WAS disappointing! No goddamned fun at all!"

Mucklebones cackled at him "There's sumpin' wrong wi' you, there is!"

Ninurta shrugged and said "Prolly so" and continued puffing on his smoke which had only burned half way down during the entirety of the struggle.

.
Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king.

Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’


#32
It seemed like nothing on the menu had an appropriate amount of sugar on or in it for his sweet-tooth and as Boy In A Dress
-disguised to look like someone called 'Aura Rhanes', fumbled his way through the Diner's list, he did it with weary resolve
anyway.

Resisting the need to pull the beret from his head, he focused on treating the individual meals to a stern negative and a harsh
tapping of a red-nailed finger.

"Nope" BIAD murmured as the man standing at their booth kept on asking his questions and the Man-Girl hidden behind the
sunglasses consented with Tibbs' command that it should be the Vithian who did all the talking.
"So you don't remember me?" Truman Bethurum asked again.

The smaller man with the assumed space-travelling beauty held up a hand and offered an expression to the bald man in the
mechanic's overalls that indicated he did understand Truman's concerns, but they were important enough that his queries
should be asked quietly.
Eagerly, Bethurum immediately sat down and grinned his inquisitiveness across the Formica-covered table.

Tibbs' trusty-handset had revealed Truman's initial encounter on a hill with the true Aura Rhanes and her alleged cohorts,
and now the little man in the brown robes put the details to use. One of them being that he must speak in rhyme.

"We were hoping that you can help our planet in a way, a cause that could help to save our day.
For Aura is in a quandary and is dealing with something she doesn't wish to tarry on,
Her heart is heavy with galactic worries and she knows you will help her home of Clarion."

Somewhere in the back of Tibbs' mind, he could hear his wife and the Vandalian -in the desolate alleyway outside, laughing
their asses off at his poor poetry. But to the Vithian's astonishment, Truman Bethurum just grinned wider.
"I knew I was right!" he exclaimed and then looked around to see if he'd recklessly alerted the Earthlings that his friends were
back. Marion -the only waitress working this late hour, carried on rearranging the milkshake glasses on the shelf behind the bar.

Tibbs slowly took off his own sun-shades and nodded his empathy to their man-in-the-know, the only difference was their
respective agendas. Bethurum thought he was dealing with a anti-war community of space-travellers from a hidden planet,
Tibbs knew he was dealing with a loony who held some vital information.
BIAD just knew syrup-laden pancakes wouldn't cut it.

"Do you recall what Aura relayed about her quest...? A journey of change that burdens her breast.
You are the polestar that can change the cosmos forever, And be renown in assisting her endeavour."

With a boob-wobbling nudge to the Man-Girl beside him, Tibbs brought Boy In A Dress into the confusing interview. Truman's
fixation was on Aura Rhanes, her sexuality and her assumed leadership qualities on a flying saucer. Such a based focus can
bring jewels from a difficult mine and as long as BIAD kept his mouth shut, Tibbs was sure he could nurse the answers he'd
need from the man across from him.

BIAD looked up from the laminated menu and surveyed the grease-smudged face of the man looking at his chest. The black
coat had been left open at Tibbs' bidding and now the wide-eyed Truman Bethurum was inspecting its contents. "Hello" BIAD
said cheerfully.
Truman's eyebrows wiggled their semaphore-like greeting back at the spaceship Captain he'd fallen in love with.

"I'm thinking of taking you to Clarion, my home among the stars,
But my memory has been effected, my dreams are locked with bars..."
As Boy In A Dress began his unwanted speech, Tibbs' mouth dropped.

It had been reported by a group of survivors from Mallsom, that Ba'al had mentioned a female called Aura Rhanes on
numerous occasions. Mallsom was a world that existed in a reality where sound was the major fuel of propulsion and held
whole solar-systems comprised of a material that resembled what we would call maple-syrup.

According to the records, this took place millions of earth years ago and from Tibbs' deep research, it was believed that the
black-haired vixen had endeared herself to the Mainyu leader with her quiet demeanour.
Now here's a Rhanes-forgery mouthing off to a crazy mechanic.

"...When we spoke at our first meeting, our star-souls seemed to fit. If you help me to remember, I'll let you grope my..."

Tibbs interrupted the red-lipped anomaly from his lewd prose with a coughing-fit and once more, held up a small hand to excuse
himself during his respiratory-struggle. "I am sorry..." the Vithian rasped, "...your atmosphere is different to ours" and wondered if
should make his apology rhyme.
BIAD went back to contemplating banana-cream pie as a possible saccharine-candidate.

Tibbs leaned closer to Truman and moving the a wooden condiment box to one side, continued the unbelievable charade.
"My lady is distraught and knows that you can assist, Clarion hangs on your every world to help us through this mist.
Now in our moment of need, will you recall our last affair, something Aura told you to take us from our despair"

The waitress watching at the counter wondered if she should see if the pair of weirdos sitting with Truman wanted to order anything.
Glendale Junction's only diner was never the busy -even during the day, but in the dead hours of midweek, any customer was a
godsend in a place where the residents of Clark County were moving away.
Marion decided to give it another minute.

"I... I can't speak the way you do..." Truman whispered at the bearded alien from behind the moon. "...But Aura told me that she was
here to speak to someone called Howard Robertson about living here, but I told her I would give permission and she could live with me"
With a slight turning of the head, Truman began his eyebrow-wiggling again at the raven-haired beauty with the commendable rack.
Boy In A Dress was now perusing the milkshake index on the reverse-side of the menu and in his view, it wasn't look good.

Tibbs touched Bethurum's deeply-tanned hand and brought his attention back to his recollections, "And who is this Robertson-character?"
he asked in hushed tones. Truman looked back towards the small man and his gaze showed that his informative thoughts were not quite
here yet. "She said he was going to hold a panel, a meeting to talk about her people coming here" Truman said ruefully and smiled sadly
at Aura's companion.

Tibbs soaked in the sparse tidings from the man in the overalls and off-handedly, thanked Bethurum without the need to use a doggerel.
This crusade wasn't going anywhere and Tibbs' assumption that Truman Bethurum held a key to the slow takeover of this universe had
panned out with little hints to which direction to go next.

"But like I told Aura, her choice for living on a Greek island or living me, well... there's just no contest. She'll not want for anything here
with me in Glendale" Truman said whistfully and glanced over his shoulder at his cold apple pie. He should've brought it with him.
TIbbs' puzzled brow demanded that whatever the lust-crazy fool across from him was saying, it should be better explained.
"Island?" Tibbs asked softly.

Maybe Marion would get him a new slice and a coffee, Truman thought as he absently answered "Yeah, Fair Salami -or somewhere...
something like that". The waitress in question was now leaning on the counter watching them.
"You mean Salamis?" Tibbs pressed and unconsciously felt for his handset, but the device remained in his pocket.

Bethurum nodded and then looked back at the apple-of-his-eye, Aura Boy-In-A-Dress Rhanes. "Yeah, and she could dump that alien
called Slymington and move in with me" he added with a wink, a function that Tibbs' own eyes would never be able to produce due to
their position.
Open wide.

"Symington... you mean Aura said Symington?" the Vithian breathed towards the ignorant human with all the clues. This seemingly
unimportant comment had brought new life to the convoluted spiders-web of the Final Mainyu. Truman Bethurum nodded without
looking at Aura's escort and focused on his goal, the gal in the black beret.

"We could maybe take a trip down to Vegas at weekends and take in in a show..." Truman mused softly and accepted the dare to
touch Aura's resting hand on the weathered Formica surface. "...You know what they say about Vegas, what happens in..." he began,
but the adage was never fullfilled.

Boy In A Dress had failed. There wasn't one thing on the menu that would warrant equal-footing to cotton candy, not one.
"We marry with trust on Clarion and the way to show that faith is to smash two building-bricks together with the male's gonads in
between" BIAD murmured without looking up from where the menu suggested something called 'Deviled Eggs'.
This planet was doomed -he thought and lost interest.

Truman Bethurum left to retrieve his apple pie and senses after his girlfriend's latest reveal. Approaching the tepid dessert and cold
coffee, he pondered on the such universal challenges regarding the pain of matrimony on other worlds and why his testicles were
tingling right now.
Still, Aura was all-woman and he was sure he could talk his way out of the bruising-part.
Turning with pie-in-hand, Truman looked at the empty booth of the All-Nite Diner and saw that it was empty. Aura Rhanes had left him.
Again.
...................................

Tibbs pulled his flowing beard from its confines of his robe and with narrowed eyes, looked at the unconcious and bleeding men slumped
in the back of the pick-up truck. "I leave him alone for five minutes..." he grumbled to himself and ignored the lop-sided grin of the abuser.
Climbing into the squatting time-machine, Tibbs realised that if forgiveness was a commodity of value, when it came to Boy In A Dress
and Ninurta, he'd be skint within a week.

"Come on, we have a lead and we've got to get back to Forrestal" he said turning the dial that produced the necessary covfefe needed to
traverse space-time. The door closed and the spine-covered craft popped out of existence as Truman Bethurum stuck his head out of the
coffee-shop's rear-entrance.
Apart from his tired co-workers sleeping it off in the back of his truck, the alleyway was quiet. Truman sighed and returned to explain to
Marion how his important role in the galactic policy of peace sometimes involved clandestine meetings in out-of-the-way places.

Tibbs watched the thirty-seven-second journey take place and in that time, told the three individuals aboard that they had to rescue James
Forrestal from being murdered. BIAD had finished disrobing himself from his Rhanes-disguise and surprisingly to their pilot, asked about
the Greek island.

"Fair Salamis is from a poem used when..." Tibbs began and then curtailed that section of the explanation. The cruel brain-washing schemes
of the Earth's Governments were not at issue right now, saving Forrestal and kidnapping Stuart Symington was.
"It's a trigger-expression that's part of a sequence of words, it can cause a subject to be psychologically malleable to suggestion" the Vithian
offered instead.

"And Stymington...?" BIAD also asked absently as he folded the arms of the sunglasses and Tibbs' worried eyes became trapped in the
GunMan's surveillance. "I can't say for sure, but I think I know one of Ba'al's chess-pieces" he said and waited for the torrent of questions to
come.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#33
Except for the night-critters talking to each other about how man was changing their favourite coastline into a haven for the
wealthy, the early hours of the Florida night was just like any other. Then with a squelch of a single metallic foot on the dew
-damp soil, an oddly-looking machine appeared next to a shadowed sweetbay magnolia.

Mucklebones held out an object she'd taken from under her poncho and held it aloft, the crow-skull told her no dangers were
afoot and the coast was clear -if you pardon the pun. "It's as quiet as the grave" she assured the three men behind her with
hushed tones.

Climbing out of the craft, they all surveyed Robert Lovett's premises. Tibbs panned the open space between the bushes next
to the outer-wall and the large house on the other side of the lawn. As his wife had stated, all was quiet.
The Vithian in the brown robes whispered that their approach should be based on a friendly-aspect and that Robert Lovett
should be questioned in the manner his station deserved.

Lovett had served as Under Secretary of State and unknown to the slightly-bald and thin-faced man, he would also work
as a Secretary of Defence, the current position of James Forrestal. Tibbs hoped that his stern features during his address
would convince his companions that a mature, well-balanced contact would be the best way to go.
After all, it was three o'clock in the morning and this particular band of merry universe-rescuers wasn't something a human
would appreciate when coming out of a deep sleep.

Ninurta pulled his pistol and fell away to undertake his surveillance. He'd pondered on whether to bring the rifle, but after a
quick glance at his immediate surroundings, decided the long weapon could also be an hindrance.
Mucklebones watched the Gunman's silent movements in the dark and smiled to herself as she stood beside her husband.

It was something she admired and even with the background sounds of cicadas trying to out-do the crickets in their nightly
serenade, there was no snapped-twig or shoulder-jostled bush that alerted the Witch of Ninurta's direction.
Boy In A Dress stayed near the time-machine and contemplated the four fireflies enjoying a respite in his cleavage.

Stepping out onto the cool grass of the lawn, Tibbs reminded his two fellow-raiders that respect can bring its own rewards.
.........................................

Robert Lovett stared at the man that had put him against the wall and gulped, it was like looking into the eyes of a hungry wolf.
"I...he..." Lovett stammered and felt the his pyjama-top tighten as he struggled in the grip of the stranger.
"He said there were foreign-looking men following him..." he blurted and turned his frightened gaze from the ice-chips under the
wide-brimmed hat towards the little fellow with the beard. "...He's a crazy-man!" he admitted loudly.

Lovett couldn't understand it, the money he paid the security people to keep out the public from his beach-side residence and
this gang of rag-tag lunatics just wander in. Two guys, a girl and some old woman who kept to the shadows. Christ, he should've
gone to Freeport he thought to himself.
Ninurta -not one for appreciating poor decision-making, swanky houses on the Florida coast or jaunts to an island, kept Lovett
against the wall and a foot off the ground for a while longer, there was more he reckoned.

Tibbs nodded slowly and then asked the original question again. "When Mr. Forrestal was here, did Stuart Symington ring you?"
Robert Lovett's face showed his puzzlement at the query, why was that damned-important to the dwarf with the beard?
Symington had always been at loggerheads with Forrestal, even after their argument about military spending. Hell, it was well
known around D.C that the Secretary of the Air Force wanted Forrestal's job anyway.

The gaunt Lovett dangled in his bewilderment and in his bedroom, the thug in the cowboy hat made sure of that.
"Yes..." he finally confessed, "Yes he called here" Lovett admitted and felt the chest-aching grip ease. Even if the menacing-look
from the gun-toting stranger didn't.

Tibbs stood for a moment in deep-thought and then walked to the telephone, the Vithian's trusty handset scanned the bakelite
instrument resting on -what Tibbs was sure was a lacquered chinoiserie coffee table. One of a pair, he noticed as he read the
device's results.

"Okay my dearest..." Tibbs said softly and ignored Lovett's gasps of horror as Mucklebones stepped out of the gloom near
the bedroom window. "...Do your thing" her husband advised as he pulled a small cord from the side of his handset and placed
it onto the side of the clunky-looking telephone.

The Witch of Carbiox stood beside the taller Gunslinger and gazed at the terrified human pinned to the wall. A slight 'feel' of his
mind told her this might not be the first time Lovett had encountered an alien. Something -she told herself, that she had to recall
to tell her man later.

"Mother-of-God!" Lovett exclaimed as Muckles' long fingers neared his sweating face and saucer-like eyes, one of them must
have escaped from the Aztec crash -he thought to himself in his torment. "Not quite-like, but Ah' do hope that me-maternal instincts
will be used before Ah' get old" Mucklebones said softly and ignored the smirk from the Vandalian beside her.

As Robert Lovett fell back to sleep and ran through meadows of bluebonnet flowers that flourished around his childhood home
of Huntsville Texas, his last intelligible thoughts were of something he'd heard during his early-years in Washington. Something
about a different type of alien.
But the Summer's day called and Robert, the skinny kid in the grey short-pants had grasshoppers to catch.

"Damn it..." the caller snapped "...I warned him not to meddle". It had been the ninth recent call made to the Lovett estate and Tibbs
was certain it was Symington. Robert Lovett had replied something about Forrestal's strange comments in respects to an invasion
and being followed by unknown people. The Vithian could tell that Lovett -the sleeping man now laid back in his bed, was attempting
to keep his voice non-judgemental.

"He's been ranting about a take-over, a coup from within..." Lovett had said and as Tibbs tweaked a knob on his handset, he could've
sworn he'd heard another voice behind the caller's angry tirade, it was only there for a moment, but screwing-up his eyes in
concentration and replaying it, Tibbs was fairly sure it held a female's inflection.

Stuart Symington hissed a sigh into the antiquated microphone, Forrestal was becoming more than just a crazy nuicance.
"Maybe his stay in Bethesda will solve our dilemma" he'd said with a resigned tone and was about to hang-up when Lovett inquired
"our dilemma?"

Tibbs watched Ninurta during his telephonic-monitoring and resisted the distraction, something was bothering the tall man standing
near the window. "Er... I mean that James could be an embarrassment, yeah... that's what I meant" Symington replied with a note
of anxiety in his voice.

"That's what I meant, Bob" he reiterated and Tibbs wondered if Robert Lovett had realised then that his paranoid friend trapped in a
Maryland Hospital may have had good cause to think something was wrong.
Ninurta's pistol was drawn from its holster again and hearing the click off the call being terminated, Tibbs quickly packed the cord and
his handset back into the pocket of his robes. Something was bothering the GunMan.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#34
I will now relate what went down on the Lovett property that might help the reader understand a bit more about the
main characters in the story. In some tales, a writer may strive to endear the focal cast of a chronicle in order to
retain interest and draw the reader into the world they have created.

It's standard and makes sense, the viewer will feel cheated if the hero or heroine is killed-off in the first chapter
and a new scenario has to be built. But because what's written below did actually happen and was reported in
The Fort Pierce News Tribune back in 1948, it can be safely accepted that it's valid.

However, the full true account was never known due to the lack of back-story of the individuals that took part in
the altercation on the Hobe Sound estate and so this is their story.

The eight security people didn't look like security people. Florida -as most know, enjoys a warm climate and with
that seemingly forever-sunshine, it's accepted that a tan would be acquired by those of the caucasian-persuasion.
But these guys looked different.

Ninurta said nothing and leaving the room, left Tibbs, Mucklebones and Boy In A Dress to their own devices.
The bedroom light was on and from past-experience with the stoic Vandalain, it could be said that he realised an
illuminated area is where a person -a hunter perhaps, would concentrate their focus.
And that was fine with Ninurta, that's why he left for the darkness.

"What do we do?" Muckles asked as she saw a shadow move across the lawn. A guard would have a torch she
thought and noticed a second dark figure step off the gravelled-driveway. Robert Lovett was in deep slumber, his
covers neatly pulled-up around him and never at any time had the four invaders allowed him near the telephone.
So who had alerted this new group of problems?

Tibbs waved a hand for his wife and BIAD to follow him "We need to use the back-stairs..." he muttered softly as
he checked the handset for the house's schematics. "...We can follow the garden wall around to get to the ship"
Mucklebones frowned at the thought of leaving the Gunman to deal with the gang of men below, she knew Ninurta's
talents had been honed in such volatile settings, but eight?

Seeing the Man-Girl step through the bedroom door following her husband, the Witch decided that the mean-man
with the big gun might fall under the cosh on this one and her own flair may be called upon.
Lifting the latch of the lead-lined window, Muckles stepped onto the little balcony and like Errol Flynn, began to utilise
the liana-bound trellis.

To be fair, the vines held well until the poncho-wearing alien put her full weight onto the climber. But that stuff called
gravity seemingly wanted to see what was under that green-tattered shawl and so, Mucklebones slid noisily and very
un-Flynn-like down to earth.
The hissed curse -and I have no idea what it means, was "Bucket of hens-feathers!" and that was when she received
a kick to the face.

The Fort Pierce News Tribune failed to identify the alleged security men and so who ever delivered that blow cannot
be named, but if the immediate situation hadn't needed Muckles to avoid the next brutish attack , she'd have baptised
him 'Bastard One'. The large boot caught her shoulder as she attempted to roll away from the oncoming aggression.

"What the hell do you...?" the man in the light-blue shirt and neatly-creased pants began and then saw Muckles' full
appearance. He carried no firearm she noticed as she got to her knees, but the billy-club he brandished did alert her
internal radar. The awareness-moment was realised and struggling to her feet, Muckles began to run towards where
the cool shadows of the shrubbery waited.

One would expect the club to have been thrown to thwart the escape, but instead the bruised Witch ran straight into
another of the men that had interrupted the clue-finding foray in Florida. This one had wide shoulders and a pervert's
smile. "Looky-here..." he mocked loudly and grabbed Mucklebones by the hem of her poncho, "...a stinkin' Gray!"

Even as the guard swung her around in a circle, Muckles held onto what her captor had just said and the easy manner
he had stated it. Although, the confident collating was disrupted by a chunky fist finding the side of her jaw and revealing
her physical femininity as she crumpled to the dew-damp lawn, she guess she was done for.

"Where's yer' pals?" the grinning 'Bastard Two' hissed as he glanced at his approaching cohort and then redirected his
gaze to the panting heap on the ground.  The pair of shadows lay across the half-exposed exhausted female and for a
moment, Muckles felt the feeling of a confidence that had nothing to do with muscle-superiority or machismo-self-pride
coming from the men. It was something else, something she could only touch at.

The wide-shouldered man leaned forward and whispered "Alien, you're in a world of hurt", -which he furnished the threat
with his debauched grin. Muckles looked towards Bastard Two and felt pain from her jaw injury, she also noticed two others
stepping out of the bushes. They may have captured her husband and BIAD she thought.

Now before I continue, I must append that the newspaper report never actually said there was eight guards that were on
the grounds during those early hours of May 1949, it was only stated as 'a number'. That's probably due to what happened
next.

Out from behind the bushes that the new pair of supposed-security staff had come from, a gang of yelling brown-robed
dwarfs suddenly leapt onto the nearest of the guards. The second man that turned -baton in hand, to fight off the this weird
squad of screaming miniatures never got the chance to see the identical long grey-white beards or small-round spectacles
on the assailants due to his ankles becoming entangled in black vines and suddenly dragging him towards the shrouded
undergrowth.
Undergrowth where Boy In A Dress waited.

"Are these guys botherin' you?" Ninurta asked easily as his lean silhouette parted from the darkness that had hidden it.
The GunMan stepped onto the clipped-grass and half-monitored Tibbs rage as the replications of himself battered the
guard to the ground.

Apart from the reason of wanting a piece of the action by avenging the Witch who he reluctantly called a 'friend', it was also
due to Bastard One and Two's change of stance in order to assist their comrade. The multiple-Tibbs couldn't fight all three,
even if they had beaten on his wife.

The one with the billy-club charged first -and with a note of approval from Ninurta, didn't voice his intentions.
The held-high weapon only opened up the guard for an easier targeting as Ninurta -stepping swiftly to one side, placed
a strategic foot out to trip the advancing man and thrust a jab into his solar-plexus area.

The deep shadow of the wide-brimmed hat failed to relate to Bastard Two that his approach hadn't gone unnoticed and
has he stepped over the prone Mucklebones, he genuinely believed he could teach the one Ms. Rhanes had warned about,
a lesson in who rules the roost around here.

Ninurta didn't smile before or after the Witch grabbed the guard's foot, but at least had the steady intention of slowing the
man's fall with a knee for the accelerating face of Bastard Two. Later, it would be discovered that two of his teeth were
embedded high up in his nasal cavity.

The other one dealing with distressing signals from his coeliac-plexus and the multi-need to breath, vomit and urinate,
moaned into the grass until Muckles finally got her feet. Oddly enough, she didn't shoo away Ninurta's assistance.

I implied that there was a limit on the guard's torment because of what Muckles did next and how it caused Bastard One
to lose consciousness. Since The Fort Pierce News Tribune didn't report it in their article, I won't either. But I know you'll
be assuming it has something to do with the man's nether-regions and I must admit, it did make Ninurta wince.

Also what went not investigated or even looked into by the Florida-based Journalist -was that since the guard was out-cold,
it could well have been that a wild animal or something may have strayed onto the estate, bitten him down there and then
took-off with the organ. Rule 101 in reporting, never rule anything out.

"They know..." Muckles gasped as she wiped her hands on her poncho. "...They know what we're doing and Forrestal
was right" she added and staggered towards the impassive GunMan. Ninurta grabbed her skinny forearm and helped
into a better position to watch her husband.

It wasn't Vithian, even Tibbs' wife knew that. But whatever the growling language was, there were a couple of words that
sounded very human and and very Muckles-like. The guard was dead and it wasn't just that one of his arms lay nearer
Lovett's house than the owner of the limb -that could be offered as a clue. To be honest, there were bits everywhere.

As Ninurta and the wheezing alien looked-on, the amount of duplicate Tibbs diminshed. One-by-one, they merged until
only the screaming original blood-soaked Time-Manager was left. Half-heartedly pounding into the steaming meat that
was once was said to patrol wealthy people's houses for money.
Except that wouldn't be quite true.

Muckles limped over to her man and stopped his wearied rage, the night was quiet as the pair sobbed and the GunMan
continued his mistrust of the dwindling darkness. Dawn was still an hour or two away, but there's a time when not-enough
-light can be just as well utilised as no-light.

"I'm hungry" chirped Boy In A Dress as his high-heels crunched on the gravel of the driveway, Ninurta narrowed his eyes
and wondered why the flaky Man-Girl had been in that location. Maybe some more guards had arrived and he'd dealt
with them. The wide manic-grin told the Vandalian nothing... well, except that BIAD had bats in his belfry, perhaps.

"I gotcha yer, yer bastard" Tibbs murmured and Muckles held him closer, for a moment the exuberant garden of one the
men who would be later crowned as a co-founder of the Cold War, had found its peace again. Robert Lovett slept on
and his dreams held no green-caped monsters or growling cowboys.

Tibbs kissed the bruised cheek of his wife and then pushed his chin over her shoulder, the hug felt odd to Muckles and
she realised his mind was elsewhere. "No... I mean I've got it" he said as he stretched out an arm towards the remains
of the security man.

Ninurta and BIAD watched their friend's little fingers scour through the gore and bone as Tibbs left his wife's embrace
to further his investigations. It wasn't much, but it looked like a misshaped baseball had mated with an octopus.
The object that the Vithian plucked from inside the flattened rib-cage, was around four inches long, vaguely ovoid and
had five arm-like appendages sticking out of one end.

Wiping the blood from its surface, Tibbs observed that it was made from material he hadn't seen since Panny Cummins
had managed to house a wormhole inside the Temarr region. Christ... that's going back a bit.

So it came to him as no surprise when the light-brown component disappeared from the palm of his hand. Tibbs smiled
through the tears and the blood at what he'd found and silently counted to ten. The strange tentacled-item returned and
lay lifeless in his hand. It was Belcite.

"Gentlemen and of course, my lady..." Tibbs croaked as he got to his feet, "...I give you the Mainyu" he said and allowing
his eyes to roll over white, he fainted into the waiting arms of Mucklebones. 
............................

The Police Report would indicate that four unknown individuals had attempted to rob Mr. Robert Lovett's home and the raid
had been circumvented by eight brave Home-Wardens, six of whom tragically lost their lives.
The two who'd escaped death had been severely injured and serious medical care had been required.

The same Police Department would ask The Fort Pierce Tribune to refrain on reporting on the deceased male found attached
to the Main Gate by his own intestines, the frenzied attack at the lawn location and the crime-scene where the other four victims
were discovered near the retaining wall of a rear fountain. The small editorial just said 'group'

I never judge Boy In A Dress because of the possible mental stress of being a singularity, it's been agreed that in space–time,
matter is infinitely dense. With that said, I have to also give a pass on Ninurta's conduct and blame myself.
I forgot that he still had that knife.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#35
"Yer know, some people use steak to take the swelling down" Ninurta sarcastically remarked as he moved his naked body
further along the natural seat. The hot bubbling water continued to work their own style of magic on the aching bones and
bruised awareness of how their plan had been guessed at.

Muckles put her tongue out at the Gunman and went back to transmitting her injury to the severed-penis. The recovering
Witch of Carbiox muttered her charms that went unheard by her three companions in the fairly-serene surroundings of
1620-Thermopolis in Wyoming.

It was the year that the mother of Johannes Kepler was arrested for witchcraft and in Scotland, they too began their own hunt
for such sorceresses. It's said that in 1620,  London's river Thames froze over and that's just fine and dandy, in Thermopolis
it was hot and bubbly.
And smelled of sulphur.

"They knew alright..." Tibbs said wiggling his toes out of the hot pool of water. "...Aura Rhanes is one-smart cookie" he
added and smiled as his beard bobbed in the effervescent cauldron. "The Mainyu must've really needed her help getting
to exist in this reality and Rhanes managed this one perfectly."

The Vithian glanced over at his wife and noticed that the swelling on her jaw had gone down and even though he held no
scientific evidence that an injury can be conveyed via will to another, he wasn't sure whether the purple-looking organ should
look that colour so quickly.
But he certainly didn't like the idea of his wife holding it so close to her face.

"We have no idea which are truly human and which are fake..."Tibbs continued "...I'm still analysing that object which I believe
houses an individual Mainy, but I think our next goal is to save Forrestal"  Pondering on whether his newly-washed robe would
be dry yet, he noted that wife nodded at his last comment.

Mucklebones examined the sagging chunk of flesh in her hand and then without a thought, tossed it over her shoulder. It's
nice to know that someone thinks of the coyotes. "Aye, the Raji' is a canny-one..." the crone said and pulling off her poncho,
she lowered herself carefully into the natural pool alongside Ninurta. The GunMan sighed and shuffled back to original position.

As the smug-looking Witch soaked in the warmth and extended her point of view, Ninurta's puzzled look at her husband to
receive a mouthed-answer for the strange word. In essence, Raji means 'crazy over-sexed individual' he silently explained.

"She's got Ba'al behind her and considerin' she's had more cock than a fairground rifle, that winnit' be the first time" Muckles
sneered. "Ah' say we find Symington after Forrestal and twist him fur' some blather" she added and stuck her head under the
broiling water.
Ninurta moved again and was beside the now humming-to-himself-Tibbs, the only saving grace was that Boy In A Dress hadn't
joined them. It doesn't bear thinking about.

In the same year that The Mayflower reached -what would be known as Plymouth Rock and the fourteenth emperor of the Ming
dynasty of China kicked the bucket, three weirdos sat in a natural hot mineral spring in the middle of nowhere and wondered
what the other weirdo of their troop was up to.

For the curious, BIAD was busy petting and talking to a bison calf called Harold.
Well, obviously that wasn't his real name and to be honest, the Man-Girl couldn't be sure the doe-eyed animal was a male.
But the simple hermaphrodite liked the name Harold, okay? Gaaawd, don't make a big thing out of it.

Then like a mermaid with attitude, Mucklebones broke the pool's surface and persevered with her assessment.
"And anuther' friggin' thing..." she said after spurting a jet of water from her mouth, "...we have no idea how many of these
Mainyu-thingys are here". Muckles quickly placed her best 'I-love-you' smile on her face in attempts to reduce the scowl her
husband carried in regards of her foul language.

Tibbs looked up at the azure sky and wondered if his studies on the object in the time-machine would -or could bring about
a way of identifying the humanoids that carried it. Belcite was known for it's quantum-jumping properties and that's probably
why Ba'al's scientists used it. But still, he was a long way behind in the race and it would be nice to cut a break in their mission.

"Yeah" he said to himself as he guessed the approaching footsteps were BIAD's, Save Forrestal, grab Symington and find
Aura Rhanes. His wife was right again.

"This is Harold" happily announced Boy In A Dress and after a minute of listening to his friends, he did what they suggested
and 'put it back'.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#36
Ninurta yawned and stretched in the roiling hot spring. He considered briefly getting out long enough to roll a smoke, but decided his makings were too far away, and the idea of getting out of the spring sopping wet in the cool breeze didn't appeal to him - not even a little bit. He decided to put off the smoke until after his soak, and turned his mind to more pressing matters.

Forrestal was in grave danger - correction, would be in grave danger, but that was some 330 years from now. They had a Time Machine, fer gawd's sake, and so could afford to soak for a month and STILL arrive back at the Naval Hospital just in the nick of time... or any other time, for that matter. When one has access to a time machine, timing becomes less of an issue. He briefly considered that perhaps they should return BEFORE Forrestal was admitted to the hospital and rescue him then, but that could muck up timelines and such, and besides he wouldn't get a chance to "interview" the goons sent after Forrestal if they did it that way.

Ninurta REALLY wanted to interview them.

This business of having to keep timelines intact could give one a headache. He heaved a sigh. This would be a good time for a smoke, but the breeze was still cool, and he was still soaked.

Then again, rescuing Forrestal at all would throw a kink in the timeline. After all, in the history books, Forrestal's body was found on the hospital lawn beneath his window. If they rescued him, there would be no body, and the timeline would change to a mere "disappearance", which could cause events on down the timeline to unfold differently, as whomever had sent the goons would surely keep trying, with unknown repercussions. Those repercussions could have unintended and massive consequences, in the same way that a butterfly flapping it's wings in the Amazon could set air disturbances in motion that could lead to a typhoon in the Philippines. Ninurta sighed again.

A sudden thought - that finding a Forrestal lookalike might work, since after his trip out the window he wouldn't have to sound like Forrestal, might expedite saving the man from the goons - resulted in a wolfish grin breaking out across Ninurta's face... which Mucklebones didn't fail to notice, and which she took as a compliment, floating on her back as she was at the time in the hot spring. Ninurta was utterly oblivious to her response when she said "What're ye thinkin'?"

Coming back to himself and causing the grin to vanish, Ninurta responded with "Ah, nuthin'... jes' thinkin' how nice it is to be on vacation is all". Muckles frowned slightly and splashed water at him, which didn't phase Ninurta since he was already soaked and starting to resemble a prune.

His thoughts turned to the weird object Tibbs had retrieved from the dead guard's innards. Ninurta still wasn't completely certain what a "mainyu" was, but he was relatively certain that if it was a dangerous as Tibbs claimed, it probably wasn't a good idea to carry one around practically hugged to his bosom. Tibbs, however, seemed entirely unconcerned by it. It looked to him like a black cow's udder with an extra teat, which on the face of it didn't seem all that dangerous to him. That led to musings about...

... this "Raji" character. From Muckles' description, the being sounded like a first-class skank. Ninurta wondered what it was she had that placed her in such demand. "Prolly jus' 'cause she's willin' to give it up on demand" he muttered, just before he fell asleep in the hot spring.

.
Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king.

Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’


#37
As the Blink 182 song 'What's My Age Again' played quietly from a speaker sunk into the ceiling, Tibbs browsed his
listings of Earth-set portals. Shaking his head at the one that would become known as the 'Skinwalker Ranch',
he sighed towards the time-machine's screen and wondered what had gone wrong there.

Usually when a doorway is built, the ley-line holds the frequency for a long time and Tibbs had even discovered a
gateway still retaining the same two stations after twenty of Earth's centuries,
But with the Utah portal, it had never worked properly and repairs had been long-in-waiting on the To-Do list.

Switching to possible doubles for James Forrestal, Tibbs watched the craft's processing unit scan humanity's
history and future for someone who looked like the shy, unstable man. The Vithian smiled at the irony of his latest
task, as he thought of the reality that the ex-Secretary of the Navy lived a double life that he -to this day, didn't have
any knowledge of. A Wose in human form

Mucklebones, Ninurta and Boy In A Dress were outside enjoying the peace and quiet of Wyoming in the early-1900's.
The usually-reserved GunMan had helped to set-up camp and now watched as Muckles cooked supper over a open-fire.
BIAD was a few hundred yards away and attempting to understand an ancient medicine wheel laid across a cleared
area behind the geothermal pool they'd used earlier.

It was another ten minutes before the data-bank threw up an appropriate candidate to replace James Forrestal and
the result brought another sigh from the small Time-Manager. But this time the exhale was bittered as Tibbs envisaged
the planning needed to obtain this suggested middle-aged man from his respective timeline.

The established history for Forrestal was that at around 2 a.m. on the morning of May 22 in 1949, the man supposedly
dealing with a nervous breakdown fell to his death from a small window of the 16th floor of the Bethesda Naval Hospital
in Maryland.

Not knowing that his thoughts had followed the same lines as the man now accepting a plate of bacon and beans from
Mucklebones, Tibbs had come to also believe that the only option was to allow history play out and replace Forrestal
at the moment when probability began to manifest as outcome.
But to acquire success, we'd need a body and now, the quantum-unit had spat out a name and a rendering.

"Eh Hubby... yer' supper's ready" Mucklebones called from the campfire and Tibbs waved a hand to indicate he had heard.
The day was closing quickly and the shadow of the time-machine was stretching towards where Ninurta and the Witch
ate their meal. Maybe sleeping on it might help in constructing a plan, Tibbs thought to himself as he clicked the craft's
intelligence to sleep-mode.

Elvis was just starting to sing 'If I Can Dream' as the time-machine went dark and the hip-shaking Mississippian became
silent as the grave that would be worshipped in his own front-garden, one day. Tibbs looked resigned as he climbed out
and dropped to the mineral-rich soil of Thermopolis and wondered if his companions would believe him.
Grabbing Jack The Ripper wasn't going to be easy.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#38
As Tibbs walked up to the group gathered around the campfire, Ninurta studied him because something about the diminutive man was a bit off. He seemed lost in thought, and you could almost hear the gears cranking. Muckles handed Tibbs a plate of the prairie delicacy of beans and bacon, which Tibbs acknowledged with a deferential hum, lost in thought as he was. Rather than tucking into the grub as the rest were doing, Tibbs stared at the plate and pushed bits around it with his spoon, wondering how best to broach the subject of the mini-quest he felt sure they would soon have to embark upon.

Ninurta gave him a few minutes, but Tibbs showed no sign of spilling what was on his mind, which was unlike the robed mini-mage. After the few minutes to collect himself was up for Tibbs, the gunslinger spoke around a mouthful of food. "Whut's on yer mind, Tibbs? If you was to think any harder, I swear steam would fly out yer ears." Tibbs snapped his head up, looking like a deer in the headlights, still unsure how to respond, how to bring up the subject. Ninurta gave him a moment to respond, and when it was apparent he was not going to, Nin continued in a lighter vein with "are ye gonna eat that grub, or wait fer it to try eatin' you?"

Muckles gave the lean man a withering glare, misreading the comment as a slight against her culinary arts. Not much got past Ninurta, and he caught that look out of the corner of his eye, immediately assessing the cause of it, and continued as if he'd never stopped by saying "I'ts pure ambrosia, I tell ya. Yer gonna kick yerself in the mornin' if you don't at least give it a nip to know what yore missin'". Muckles, not quite sure if Ninurta was still disparaging her cooking , attempting to make amends, or being genuine, went back to eating, to see how it would unfold before passing final judgement.

At length Tibbs started eating, if only to delay the inevitable discussion coming, and to buy time to decide how to best approach it. He found Ninurta was right, and as prairie fare goes, the food was superb - but he already knew that it would be. His wife was no slouch in the kitchen, as he continually discovered over and over again.

Finally, as he was digging into his second helping - and Ninurta was wolfing down his third plate - the gunman figured that four plates or so might convince the Witch of Carbiox that his comments were in no way disparaging so that she might not poison him at his next meal - the little wizard initiated the conversation. I've been thinking" he started "that in order to preserve the integrity of the time lines we will have to replace Forrestal in order to save him." Ninurta's head shot up at that, for he had been thinking the same thing, but he didn't interrupt the little bearded muti-man. "To that end" Tibbs continued, "I conducted a search of the timelines and have settled upon a suitable candidate." Ninurta kept scooping, chewing, and swallowing, waiting on Tibbs to spill it. Some times, you just had to give the little man a bit of time to reach the heart of a matter.

"Now we know" Tibbs pushed onward, "that 'Forrestal' died in what some think was an assassination, but others feel was a suicide. The salient point here is that he died, and so shall his replacement have to do." Ninurta grunted and Muckles just kept eating as if Tibbs had mentioned that it might rain in the morning. Neither cared that the doppelganger had to die, and Ninurta was only mildly concerned that it not fowl another time line to maintain this one. The death itself was immaterial. Everyone dies, eventually... except himself, he thought with a twinge.

Tibbs cleared his throat and pushed onward. "What my device discovered is that there is a character in history who is a precise double for Forrestal" and here he paused for comment. None was forthcoming, so he moved onward. "The double is not some obscure person that no one ever heard of a hundred years after his death" another pause, still no comments, so he blurted it out - "It's Jack the Ripper".

That drew attention.

Ninurta looked up with a gaping mouth, not entirely cleared of beans and bacon. Mucklebones snapped her head towards Tibbs, looking like she expected him to sprout an extra head at any moment. Only Boy in a Dress spoke, and that was only to say "he was quite the lady-killer, wasn't he?" which drew a disapproving glance from Tibbs, which BIAD summarily ignored, waiting on an answer.

"Not in the generally accepted sense of the term, but he DID end the lives of several ladies..."

At which point Ninurta spoke, with a widening grin to finish Tibbs' sentence with "... before he mysteriously disappeared from history! Tibbs, yer a friggin' genius - I think ye've picked a winner here... as long as he looks enough like Forrestal..."

"Oh, I assure you Ninurta, Jack the Ripper is a dead ringer for Forrestal." The comment - and the play on words - was not lost on the gunman, neither was Tibbs' disaproving scowl at the language Ninurta employed in describing Tibbs' alleged mental acumen.

"Of course he's a friggin' genius" Muckles chimed in, adding "ah don't pick nothin' but the best!" and she beamed at her husband as if she had found a diamond under a rock. Mucklebones ignored Tibbs' glare of disapproval at her repetition of Ninurta's precise accolade.

Ninurta deferentially reached his plate towards Muckles for a fourth helping, and wiped his hands on his jeans as she refilled the plate. The mood had lightened, and it was time for planning. "Now, whut we're gonna need to do" Ninurta said as he stretched a cramping leg out "is to git to jus' the right time, after he'd killed his last victim an' jus' before he intended to kill the next - which'll never git kilt thanks to us an' none the wiser of it, and snatch his crazy ass offen the streets of London, an' into oblivion." A wolfish grin spread across the gunman's face as he said "This's muh kind of 'intervenin' '. Ah don' mind puttin' an end to the likes of that one, and lord knows how many of the London's finest strumpets we're gonna save in the process of savin' Forrestal." The grin got a bit wider, and he mentioned that "Strumpets is some of muh favorite folk!"

But that attitude has brought many a man to grief.

.
Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king.

Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’


#39
"Ah' look ridiculous..." Ninurta said as he pulled at the tight starched-collar of his costume. "...Are yer' sure all of Victorian London
wore this type of get-up?" he growled as he brushed his hands down the waistcoat until he met the silver watch-chain.

Tibbs finished examining the read-outs from the access-router and with a lift of his eyebrows, decided that over all, a dapper
gent of the late-1800's would fare better than a ruffian from the London dockyards. The GunMan seemed reluctant with the plan
that only he and Boy In A Dress would take on in this mission, that is -until he picked up the black Chesterfield overcoat.
"Now that's a dandy" he murmured and pulling it on, eyed his companion for approval.

Mucklebones was still seeing to BIAD, he'd also griped about being a dressed-up participant in catching the famous killer of
Whitechapel, but it seemed the canny Witch had brought him around with words of endorsement.

"Yer' suit this better than me" Muckles grunted with mock-envy as she pulled on the strings that tightened the boned corset.
Boy In A Dress felt the bare foot of his tailor on his back and thought better-of-it to not look over his shoulder, Muckles aspired
to the same doctrine as himself and wore no undergarments.

The full-length dress wasn't satin -as the ladies of the era enjoyed, but made of carlex-fibre that was lighter and held the same
attribute that Ninurta's ankle-length coat had, it was impenetrable to a bullet or blade. It seems the little Vithian had thought of
everything.

Looking at the tiny parasol leaning against the leg of the time-machine, Mucklebones wondered why the hell the women of that time
carried one. Wasn't Victorian London supposedly covered in smog? But focusing on the hermaphrodite and his concerns of pulling
the dress over the large hooped-crinoline, Muckles grabbed the hem of the frilled-material and brought to the base of the cage-like
petticoat and forgot about the climate of an industrial-age.

BIAD turned slowly as he finished tying his poke bonnet and asked with a sincere tone "Will I fit in?" The crone in the grubby-poncho
wanted to laugh out loud at the weird long-fringed creature in the elegant attire, but with her no-nonsense husband so close by, she
thought better of it.
"Yer' a belle" Muckles said softly and patted BIAD's shawl-covered shoulder.

After explaining to the well-dressed gent with the bad attitude that a Broadway silk hat would ensure more eminence in the seedy
back-streets than a Gentleman's Derby hat, Tibbs finally revealed his piece de resistance. A rosewood walking cane with a little
secret for any would-be mugger.

Ninurta's evil smile in the reflection of the carbon-steel sword was chilling as he inspected the weapon and it only faded when Tibbs
sternly advised that the GunMan's pistol could not accompany him and his lady-friend on their mission. "It's simple really..." the small
time traveller explained in an obvious sarcastic tone, "...our elusive prey needs to captured alive and not with a huge hole in his head
from that thing"

Sliding the blade back into it's wooden sheath, Ninurta said nothing and the robed firebrand of the scheme took it as one of those
rare compromises the Vandalian offered. With a glance over to where BIAD twirled his small sunshade, Tibbs reckoned they were
ready.

The time machine was fired-up and the early morning of 9th November 1888 awaited the gang of four to catch -what those for
centuries had believed, was the intangible.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 
#40
"Really?" Ninurta growled. "Whut kinda self-respectin' space-time machine ain't got a cloaking device?"

Tibbs held his hands up in exasperation."As I was explaining, it DOES have a cloaking device, which is currently... indisposed" he offered lamely.

"So we got us a city of a blue million people, who apparently never sleep, and we're just going to... what? Pop in for a sec? Don'tcha reckon that might draw a bit of attention, which, as I might've mentioned, is the exact opposite of what we want to do?"

"If we 'pop in' at some out of the way place, it should go entirely unnoticed. Victorian Londoners are somewhat expert at minding their own business..."

Ninurta interrupted Tibbs by throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Alright alright alright! Have it yer way - but iffen I gotta kill half of London, that's gonna get a mention in the papers, you can bet yer ass!" and he stalked off - as far as he could in the time machine - and sat in a sulk at the hatchway. The faster he got out of this rig the better... for all concerned.

Tibbs maneuvered the machine to an open area near something called "Liverpool Street Station", an odd name considering it fronted on Bishopsgate Street,  and touched the spiky oddity down. Ninurta immediately threw the hatch open and bolted from the device, with BIAD close on his heels.

As soon as they were clear of the machine at a safe distance, Tibbs immediately took off again to await the outcome of the snatch operation.

Ninurta took in a breath and surveyed the surroundings to get his bearings. 1888 London was a dimmer place than he expected. There was what appeared to be a rail yard to his north, and a drunk immediately to his east, just where he wanted to go. The drunk stood there with his mouth gaping at the spectacle he had just witnessed.

"Great!" Ninurta mumbled.

Boy in a dress offered "Don't hurt him please, Ninurta. he's drunk. He won't remember any of this tomorrow..."

Ninurta grunted and started towards the drunk, BIAD quickening his pace to keep up - and perchance save the drunk from a severe beating, or worse. Instead of the expected mayhem, Ninurta merely brushed past the drunk, who was still gaping but recovered enough as the pair brushed past to ask "Wot was 'at, then?"

Ninurta growled back over his shoulder "It wuz yer mother! An' we're your brothers. She just birthed us..." For his part, Boy in a dress offered the drunk a winning smile, not realizing how terrifying that smile can be to the uninitiated, whereupon the drunk promptly passed out. Whether from drink or from terror, I shall leave it to the reader to discern.

Walking briskly across Bishopsgate Street, the unlikely pair entered a street named Widegate Street, and maintained their pace, Ninurta walking with a loping stride most unbecoming of the gentleman he was poorly attempting to portray. Meanwhile BIAD hustled along with a quick step, trying to keep up with his shorter strides. Ninurta was amazed at how truly dim it was in a city this large. The street lights didn't output anything like the light capacity he was used to, and the swirling fogs didn't help matters at all. It was just after midnight, and people were still bustling everywhere. This was NOT the 19th century village he had imagined.

Just as they crossed a street named Sandy Row, "Widegate" Street suddenly narrowed - they should have renamed this section "Narrowgate Street", Ninurta thought glumly. Just as they entered the alleyway, Ninurta spied a pair of people against the wall to his left. At first he thought it was a man attacking a woman - something he expected in the era, at this particular time - but as the pair got closer, he saw what they were really doing and... "Good gawd!" He exclaimed. "Why don' y'all git a friggin room!"

The man responded by grunting out "Why spend the extra? Now move along!" and kept right on going just as he had been, huffing and puffing.

The woman's only comment was a breathless  "They've got special rooms for friggin'?"

BIAD questioned Ninurta as they walked past the spectacle in the darkened alleyway, asking "Is he hurting her?"

Ninurta responded with "Only if she's lucky, but I kinda doubt it" and kept striding.

As they neared the far end of the alleyway, a shadow detached itself from within a doorway and blocked their path. "Wot 'ave we got here, then? Out for a stroll are we? You look to be a mighty fine gentleman for this part of town, at this time of night, guv'ner."

I ain't got time fer pleasantries, fella. Stand aside." Ninurta growled at the shadow. At that point, 3 more shadows detached from various doorways to gather with the first.

"We seem to be in the majority, fine sir, an' we'd like to 'ave a li'l chat." There wasn't any friendliness in the man's voice, but he continued in the same vein. "A fine gen'leman such as yourself ought to realize the dangers inherent here, in this part o' town, but we ain't dangerous men, We're 'elpful men. Just gi' us any valuables ye've got, and we'll assure you safe passage to the end o' the street, we will. We're nice like that."

Ninurta growled at the man "I ain't got no valuables, but iffen you git outta my way, right now, I might not kill ye. How's that fer fair?"

The shadow chuckled. "I see you've not apprised yourself of the situation you're in. There's four of us, alleged to be hardened criminals all, and just one o' you, in all yer finery." He paused, then added "If ye've go' no valuables, maybe a little one on one time with the little missy there might do... Nah. We're going to take your valuables AND some one on one time wi' 'er!" and the four advanced on them, not realizing the terrible mistake they had made.

Ninurta didn't have time to release the latch on the sword cane, but it wasn't the first time he'd whooped a man with a mere stick, and probably wouldn't be the last. He lifted the cane and lashed out with it, striking the lead antagonist a smart crack on the side of his head, which sent him sprawling, interfering with his balance and applying lateral force at the same time. He then slid the cane through his hand and, grabbing the handle with his other hand, sent a linear jab straight into the next man's solar plexus just like he was shooting billiards. Turning back to the first assailant, he beat the man's head as he was trying to rise again until he collapsed, senseless, then treated the second, gasping, man the same

Turning to the other two, he found that they were already down, BIAD's hair still writhing like Medusa's snakes until it settled down and BIAD looked insufferably pleased with himself. "They aren't a problem anymore" he shrugged.

Ninurta picked up the men by their collars and summarily deposited them back into their respective doorways, appearing like they slumbered there... which Ninurta had already noticed was a habit in this age of London.

"What if they wake up and cause trouble?" BIAD asked.

"Ninurta snorted. "What're they gonna do? Grab the nearest constable and complain that someone they were trying to rob had the temerity to fight back? Nope, they ain't gonna say shit about it. Let's move." and he strode off continuing eastward.

At the end of the alley, they entered Raven Row right at the corner of a large edifice that turned out to be a convent and shelter house for unfortunates. Turning left at the east corner of the structure (and the end of Raven Row) put them on Crispin Street. Continuing along the front of the convent for a  bit over half a block,  they turned right onto Dorset Street.

About 2/3 of the way east on Dorset Street they found what they were seeking. An arch in the brick unibuilding along the north side of Dorset had a sign visible in the dim light above it proclaiming it to be the the entry to Miller's Court.

Entering the archway About 12:50 AM, and walking through a tunnel-like passageway between buildings, they came to a small open court lined with apartments - or what passed for apartments in this area, at this time. One, on a corner, had two windows - one larger, and the one closer to the corner smaller - And immediately around the corner a doorway into the same room. The smaller window near the corner had two broken panes in it, covered with a coat being used as a curtain. Down the corner of the apartment - just a single small room, really - on the same side as the broken window, ran what appeared to be a cast iron gutter spout, although it could have been made out of crockery - Ninurta wasn't sure, and wasn't going to tap it to find out.

From inside the room came a sweet voice with an Irish lilt, singing.

Ninurta whispered to BIAD "this is the place. Let's back out for now and watch from the arch." The pair retraced their steps to the archway, through it, and to the other side of the street where they could keep an eye on the arch. It was the only way in or out, and it was where they would catch their man.

Once safely on the other side of the street, BIAD spoke up and said "Pretty voice on the singing woman."

"Yup." Grunted Ninurta.

"Can't we get closer and listen?" BIAD prodded.

"Nope." Ninurta responded. "That's the victim singing, so she ain't dead yet."

"We could save her" BIAD offered.

Ninurta just tightened his jaw and, through gritted teeth, said " Nope. It'd change history". He was going to have to fight with himself to avoid doing just what BIAD had suggested. He stood, like a stone statue with feet shoulder width apart and his sword can firmly on the paving blocks, both hands gripped white-knuckle tight atop it in front of him.

And he waited.

********************
Ninurta had no way of knowing it, but he would again be reported in history books from this incident. BIAD had disappeared to God only knows where (he's never been accused of having a long attention span) when Laundress Sarah Lewis passed Ninurta at about 2:30 AM on her way through the arch to Miller's Court, and noticed him standing there watching. His opulent appearance made him stand out in that neighborhood, which got him noticed, and reported to the police after the murder was discovered. Poor Sarah had the willies, thinking she might have been the victim if not for mere chance. The thought was floated at Scotland Yard that HE was possibly Jack the Ripper... but he was not. Jack was already in the room with Mary Kelly, and by 2:30 AM was already at work. Though they did search for him, the constabulary never did find Ninurta, not surprisingly - which only added to the mystery of history.

Sarah, for her part, walked right past the 12 foot by 12 foot room where Jack the Ripper leisurely disassembled poor Mary Kelly, none the wiser, content that she had gotten the danger behind her, standing on Dorset street staring at the entryway to Miller's Court.

Jack worked his grisly deeds for a little over 3 hours, secure in the knowledge that no one would pass by and discover him, since this kill was not on the street as the others had been.

He didn't count on Ninurta and BIAD standing watch, waiting for him, already knowing where he was and what he was doing.
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Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king.

Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’ Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’




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