WHEW!! Bet ya' all thought I'd gone and died on you, considering how long its been since I last posted one of these. No such luck. I was just held prisoner by my Place of Employment for a few weeks while they tried to arrange a hostage exchange. Damn consulting contracts. This one didn't come out quite the way I wanted it to, but I'm rather tired of looking at it, so here we go anyway. Special Thanks to Vickie Griswold and Diane Brendan for advance commentary and beta-reading; I couldn't have crawled through this without you. As always, commentary and criticism are welcome, flamers will be doused with gasoline and set ablaze (poetic justice if there ever was). Yes, I know I still owe some of you reciprocal commentary; please give me a little time to dig myself out of this backlog. Email: DeTroyes@EnterAct.Com Copyright disclaimer at end. DBK 22 May, 1999 ***** Friendly Gestures (The Question, pt. I) A This Time Round: To Die For fiction. ***** DAY ONE She was rather perturbed at the First Doctor's companions. She'd ordered the thing especially for use on Adric, of course. She'd decided that she had been relying far too much lately on methods that involved some form of ballistics, and it was beginning to get rather boring. After all, when you came right down to it, if you've seen one sopping chest wound or one vacated skull, you've seen them all -- and lately, she'd seen them far too many times. So, she'd thought this would be a much more interesting change of pace. It had style, it had panache; it made a _statement_, which as far as she was concerned was about half the point. Like most of her methods, it would send a clear and unequivocal signal about where she stood on the matter, one that could not possibly be misinterpreted. And, she had decided, it was so very important that this message be understood by everyone; she so much wanted it all to be absolutely clear. Which, unfortunately, brought her back to the subject of the First Doctor's companions. She wasn't certain exactly how it happened, but for some reason a number of them had decided to borrow the thing before she had a chance to use it. Susan, at first, then Vicki and later Dodo. What was worse, two of them had managed to accidentally off _Him_ in the process, and as far as she was concerned that was completely inappropriate. Didn't they understand that it was her job to try any new methods on Him first, just to make sure they'd work? Didn't they know how much effort she'd put into this, charting out weakest stress points and ascertaining levels of pain tolerance? Didn't they realize that she'd worked very hard to catalogue, categorize, and cauterize each and every method, just so they didn't have to? Didn't it occur to them that trying something new without it first being vetted by her was just... not proper? She had considered doing something to the three of them, but regretfully decided against it. The Old Codger would undoubtedly not have approved, and if there was anyone that shouldn't be angered, it was him. So, for the moment, that particular series of transgressions would have to go unresponded to. True, it was frustrating, but then again she already had a way to work out her frustrations, and it certainly didn't involve eggshells. Besides... in some ways, she found it all rather flattering; she'd never been a role model before, and the very idea that some of the other young ladies were starting to follow her lead was strangely satisfying. Therefore, there was nothing left for it but to have her turn with the thing. After all, why waste the opportunity? She'd never tested this method before, and it certainly deserved a meticulous entry of its own in her catalogue. So she adjusted the straps to the harness; as the load on her back was digging into her shoulder. Then she put on the thick gloves, unclipped the hose, and adjusted the nozzle to the device slightly. Quickly she took a glance at the yellow-and-green clad mannequin about fifteen meters away, standing before her in the field behind the pub. It looked fairly accurate; she'd even gone to the trouble of having a star replica stamped out of aluminum, just so her test would be that much more realistic. She smiled, glanced at the clock on the table, and pulled the trigger. A stream of flame spouted toward the mannequin, enveloping it. She held until the figure was a humanoid-shaped pillar of fire, stopped, then glanced once more at the clock. Satisfied, she clipped the nozzle back to the harness, turned to the test bench, and activated a new page in her notebook. Six seconds, she thought. Adjusting for His healing abilities and thick skull (curiously, she chose to underline those last two words), call it about nine seconds minimum. She dutifully added the information to the notebook, under the newly created entry of "Method #522: Full-Body Burn, Flame- thrower". She made a few more notes, mostly concerning speculations on reconstitution timings, which she had lately begun to be very proficient at predicting. She knew, for instance, that a full disintegrate usually took about one hour ten minutes to come back from (Method #163, Disintegrate, Phaser Type II), but a mere shot to the head only about forty-five (Method #92, Head shot, Glock-17). Since this method would undoubtedly leave more remains than a full disintegrate but much less than a run-of-the-mill head shot, she estimated a reconstitution time of around 1hr +/- 2 minutes. Unfortunately, the weasel wasn't always cooperative, so she wasn't always able to determine exactly when He came back. Still, she had done this enough times to know that her predictions were reasonably accurate. She paged back a few entries, to compare some notes and to make notations concerning potential cross-references. Most of the entries reviewed were short and to the point, but occasionally some were quite detailed, and it was those detailed entries which momentarily drew her attention. Especially one of the very recent entries, which was considerably more detailed than any other in the tome and the discussion to which an extensive number of pages had been devoted. No conclusion as yet, but the rational debate had been... interesting. With a sigh she powered-down the book and reactivated the lock's 25-digit keycode, hand-print scan, and retinal scan. She certainly didn't want anyone to find the book and read her notes, not until she'd had a chance to edit them in a more professional manner. After all, she didn't want them to get the wrong impression, did she? ***** Hidden in the nearby trees, a short, brown-haired woman lurked quietly, peering through a large pair of binoculars with one hand, while the stock of her M-16 rested in the elbow of her other free arm. "Three, target in sight, awaiting orders." Not too far away in another tree, a stocky man with short-cropped red hair and beard, hefted a sniping rifle at the same target. "Four, I have a hard target, awaiting orders." From what used to be the summit of a small hillock about 400 meters away, a third individual (short and heavy-set, with black hair) gazed through the scope attached to his M40. He lined up the cross hairs on the Trakenite's curly head, and spoke into his headpiece. "Seven, target acquired, awaiting orders." "Team Alpha, this is Six. Hold your fire and stay in position. Do not, repeat, do not engage target." To varying extent, each of the three swore. It was so frustrating, they each thought. After all, the Bitch was in plain sight, and with one word they could take her out and make the poor sod's life that much better. Yet, they were being ordered to hold and observe. Hold and observe, while she prepared to continue on her program of pain and torment. It just didn't make sense, and each of them wondered what the hell their fearless leader had in mind. Besides... didn't he realize how hard it was to keep cross hairs aligned when your whole body kept twitching? ***** Not too far away, in a large conspicuously disguised vehicle... "Let me get this straight. You DON'T want us to kill her?" Ryoko nodded vigorously. "Look, Doug. We really do admire your dedication to this. Honest. But... killing her isn't going to solve the problem. In fact, it may just end up making him a whole lot more miserable... which is exactly what we don't want, right?" Diane looked perplexed. "But, I don't understand. How can killing her make him _more_ miserable? I thought the whole point of this exercise was to make it so he wouldn't be ridiculed and abused anymore." "Exactly, it is. But there are better ways to do it than, well, carefully chosen preventive assassinations." The ADF's fearless leader looked decidedly uncomfortable with that particular thought. "Look," the space pirate girl continued, "usually I'm as much in favor as you are of just going in with guns blazing and killing anyone remotely associated. But this time, well, the gang and I have thought it over and we really think this isn't the right time for it." "You still haven't answered Di's question, Ryoko." "Then I'll give you two words to mull over: Akane Syndrome." She then proceeded to outline her, Wes, and Lucas' deductions, citing as many examples as she could remember off hand and ending with the contents of a certain procured video tape. She also informed them about what they were going to try to do about it. The two Adric-fans looked stunned. "Damn..." Diane whistled. "You know, it does make a certain degree of ghastly sense." Doug shook his head, not quite convinced. "Naw... Naw, it can't be. Adric and her? If so, she's got a funny way of showing it." "Yeah, but Doug... she's psycho." Diane pointed out, one finger making a circular motion in the air. "Who knows what really makes sense to her?" "I'll get you a copy of the video." Ryoko offered. "Watch it, and you'll know we're right." "He told me he did nothing more than a weapons check on her..." The aqua-haired girl grinned. "Looks a lot friendlier than that on tape." The two fans eyed each other. "Ok..." Doug said carefully, "assuming we do go along with this, what do you want us to do?" "Keep track of her movements, and try to keep him alive long enough to ask. Our biggest problem is that her attacks usually come so fast he barely has time to scream. We've got to give him a chance to get the words out." "Easier said than done. According to our intel, she's practically got killing him down to a science." "What about while he's working at the 'Round?" Diane suggested. "She can't touch him when he's on shift." The space pirate shook her head. "We thought of that. We might yet have to resort to it, but for the moment it'd probably be best if we held that as a last option. He's reluctant enough about it as it is, and there's no telling what sort of a reaction they'll give him if she publicly declined." Diane thought that dynamic over. "Yeah, I can see that. He gets enough crap from them without that adding to it." She considered the girl's words. "So. Does this mean he's going along with it?" she asked, hopefully. "Not willingly, but Wes and Lucas are pushing him forward whether he wants it or not." Ryoko flashed a skewed grin. "After all, what else are friends for?" That brought a chuckle from all present. Diane turned to her friend. "Doug... you do realize that if this gets set up successfully, RADW will throw a collective fit?" One corner of Doug's mouth curled maniacally. "Yeah. Won't they?" ***** A flash of reflected light caught her attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she picked out the figure amid the foliage. Three, she thought. That makes three, two snipers and one spotter. She continued to adjust the harness straps, acting as if she had not seen them, while at the same time trying to come to an estimate as to how many of them were out there. Lets see, there's one in the trees and one on top of the hillock, each with sniping rifles, and a third with binoculars, probably with some kind of assault rifle (she decided it was probably something on the order of #77, Multiple Gunshot Wounds, M16, Full Auto). Almost certainly they would have other weapons available (#123, Chest Wound, .357 Magnum came immediately to mind, possibly with #201, Stomach Burst, Hand Grenade as an option). Chances were good they also had a command post somewhere close -- probably that greenish-brown package delivery truck on the street, the one that hadn't moved for almost two hours. Add two to three in there... She glanced at the gauge on the FL6, and smirked. The three girls had wasted an awful lot of fuel, and her calibration experiments had used up more. And she didn't have the time to order up replacement gas cartridges. To be absolutely certain of getting Him, she doubted she had the fuel to spare. Mentally, she took stock of her personal inventory and the options they presented, but decided none of them really would be all that effective. To use them adequately, she would be faced with having to either take off the flame-thrower because it would get in the way (#42, Head Shot, Sig Sauer P225), or would have to get so close that her intentions would be known long before she got near enough to have any fun (#179, Arterial Cut, Butterfly Knife). Pity. She continued to act unawares, putting her notebook in a lock box on the test bench, activating the attached locks and thermite charges, and finally sealing it with another thumb print. No need to let them know just yet that she knew they were there. Besides, they obviously could have taken her out some time ago, and the fact that they hadn't led her to believe she was just under observation. Not that it didn't concern her, but there really was no need to advertise her knowledge to them. Better to let them think she didn't know, so that they might make a similar mistake in the future. Still, it did mean she should probably start to be a little more cautious; the weasel's friends were fast proving they could be almost as dreadfully annoying as He was. It was getting late, she realized. Here it was almost noon, and she hadn't even made an attempt yet. Rather unlike her, but then again the less common methods always took longer, just because of the pre-mortem tests she always ran. So, with a sigh, she hefted the burden on her back and began to make her way around the This Time Round, carefully watching the reflected light from three sets of eyepieces as she did so. She should eventually come up with some way of dealing with those losers, but at the moment she had a mission to accomplish. Even so, she thought as she left the grounds of the pub, it didn't mean she couldn't consider some possibilities while she tried to find Him. Maybe a few "#341, Multiple Shrapnel Wounds, Claymore" in the trees, and perhaps supplemented by the odd "#277, Torso Rupture, Bouncing Betty" in the grass. That should take care of any unwanted attention. She continued on her way. ***** "Six, this is Seven. Papa-Bravo moving out, heading east." "Confirm, Seven. Maintain your position and do not, repeat, do not engage. Observe until she is out of sight, then fall back on the command vehicle. Understood?" "Confirm, Six. Understood." Alpha Seven watched as the Trakenite turned the corner of the pub. "Six, this is Seven. Have lost visual with subject." "Six, this is Four. Have lost visual." "Six, this is Three. Papa-Bravo is still in my sight. She's just paused at the edge of the crater and is looking in." "Seven, fall back on command vehicle. Four, Three, hold until she has left the parking lot, then follow. Be careful; if you can see her, then chances are she can see you." "Affirmative, Six." A pause. "Ok, she's turned away from the crater and is now continuing on an east-bound heading. Looks like she's on her way toward the park." Another pause. "Ok Six, this is Three. In pursuit on foot." ***** Elsewhere in our little drama... "Wes, this is a bad idea that just keeps getting worse." Ever since they had first approached him on this, Adric of Alzarius had tried to convince himself that it wouldn't ever really happen, that he wouldn't ever really find himself trying to come up with a rational way to ask an irrational person if they would go out with him. "Relax, Adric. It's only a flame-thrower. How many times have you had that one already?" He should have seen it coming, he realized later; he should have seen that Nabiki would have her hand in it, that she'd come up with a way to prod him along. He hadn't anticipated that there would be evidence he couldn't explain away, even if it was (on the face of it) rather innocuous evidence at that. But the tape did exist, the evidence was there for all to see, and if he was to have any hope for a stress-free and unfettered existence, the only choice he had was to prove to them once and for all that he was right and they were wrong. "In the last few weeks, twice. Something about flame wars and surveys." Of course, when you really came down to it, he had no one but himself to blame; he'd been the one to let his guard down in front of a whole room full of people, and so now he had to face the consequences. He really hated himself when he did something stupid like that. It always opened him up to the others, providing a source for those endless jibes and taunts they all liked to direct at him. Of course, this time there was a slightly unusual twist: it had been his own friends which had decided to betray him, but in such a way that they seemed to genuinely believe would really help. Meanwhile, the others had since done nothing worse than give him the odd, askance glare, as if wondering when it was that the other boot would drop. "Look. So what if she says 'no'? At least you would have asked, and at least you would know the answer." "She could tell everyone, and I would never hear the end of it. Hell, they're still taunting me about the time Gadzikowski set me up with Mel and Peri." "So, take the moral high-ground. Tell them you were trying to extend an olive-branch, make amends for whatever it is she's got against you. What can she do about that, huh? Embarrass you to death?" "She'd consider it a challenge." The strange part about it was, he could see their logic to it. They were completely wrong, of course, but he still could see it. He'd thought about it a lot lately, especially in the last few days. But no matter how many times he tried to rethink it, no matter how many different angles he chose to explore, he still came to the same regretful conclusions: this spite program of hers was far too methodical, her efforts at eradicating him far too systematic, for there to be anything to their deductions. If it was anything but, if there had ever been some spark of affection lurking behind all of that malice, then surely it must have been lost or extinguished long ago. No other conclusion fit the evidence at hand. Why couldn't they see that? Because just once I was fool enough to let myself pretend otherwise. "You know, Adric." the young man in the UEO uniform remarked, "I actually think you're more afraid that she _will_ accept than not." "She won't accept." he grumbled. "Of that, I can assure you." "Until she actually turns you down," Wesley Crusher interrupted, "that's just your opinion." The corners of his mouth upturned. "Of course, you're welcome to try to prove or disprove it." Adric couldn't come up with a retort at that moment, which just served to underline the general feeling that he was doomed. "Luckily, Doug got us an opening you can use." Lucas Wolencek added. "Not a planned one, mind you, but heck, isn't that what improvisation is about?" "Let me guess. The towel?" "Bingo. After all, she did ask _you_ to make sure it was returned." The Alzarian nodded; he'd noticed Wes and the ADF talking in low whispers the night before; but hadn't had the nerve to find out what it was they were planning. Not that they'd have asked for his opinion. "So... what's the plan?" Wesley nodded. "Simple. The ADF surrounds her, you throw in the towel, you ask." "No." "But..." "Look, Wes. If you're going to arrange a funeral for me, could you at least have the courtesy of allowing me to pick the gravesite?" Heavy sigh. "I don't want the ADF anywhere around - - they're almost as loony as she is. She'll _know_ something was up the moment they show." "Yeah, but they can provide cover..." "I've already been covered once by them, thank you very much." "Then how...?" "I'll think of something." There was a pause, as the Alzarian's two friends stared at the fixture behind which they knew their friend to be. "Ummm... Adric?" Lucas began. "Yeah?" "You know, it's very hard to improvise when you've got yourself locked in the stall like that..." ***** Charlie Thompson. (Alpha Seven) had just withdrawn to the ADF's command vehicle when Heather showed up, a bag of miscellaneous electronic parts in hand. Charlie looked strangely at the bag. "Radio Shack?" "Tandy." Heather corrected, then began to explain as she climbed in. "About the time that WANKER lot showed up the other day, we detected some kind of a minor breach in the local panreality logarithmic oscillation template, as if someone had punched a hole through the vortex. Best guess is, the two events are connected. Anyway, I'm hoping to build a spatial anomaly detector that will be able to better pinpoint exactly when and where such PLOT developments occur." "How?" "Well, PLOT developments like these vary notoriously in predictability; sometimes they come when you least expect them, other times you can see them coming a mile away. Unfortunately, for our purposes that's not good enough. But they do happen to have one thing in common: the presence of CVE's. The SAD-WANKER device I'm building will detect the presence and location of any CVE's in the area." "CVE's? Charged Vacuum Embodiments?" Heather shook her head negatively. "Uh-uh. Cheap Visual Effects." The young woman settled herself at one of the terminals, and donned a headpiece that dangled from a peg. "Who's on her?" she asked. Charlie nodded toward one of the other screens, upon which two figures could be seen distantly tailing a third. "Walter and Vick3ie. They're keeping as far away as they can." Up toward the front, Diane climbed into the driver's seat and started up the engine. "Doug... where the hell did you get this piece of crap?" she grumbled. "From some French guy in New York. Hey, you try to do better on that so-called budget Langley gave us." A buzzing sound issued from his gun belt, and he reached down for his cell phone. "Yo! Yeah, its me. Ok. Ok. Huh? You mean _don't_ tail her? But... Ok. No, I don't think so. Uh huh. Yeah, that should work. Probably better that way, too. Uh huh. Uh, ten and one-half. Why do you need to know? Uh huh. Ok, that makes sense. Uh huh. Are you sure? Not even a little? I swear, it'll be no more than a graze..." His voice dropped as if extremely disappointed. "Oh, all right. If he insists. It's his call, after all. Uh huh. Ok, _this time_, sure. But if this one doesn't work out... Fine, fine. We'll play along. Fine. Over and out." "Alpha One is on the move, people!" Doug shouted to the back of the truck, as he clipped the cell phone back on. "Di, head for the park and go to the south-east corner parking lot." "Car park!" Heather shouted from the back of the truck. "Whatever. Charlie, what's the twenty on Psycho Bitch?" "She's just entered the western edge of the park. Walt and Vick3ie still have the tail." The ADF Guy took a deep breath. It just didn't feel right. Here they were, offering the poor guy more support than he ever dreamed he had, and they were being asked to just sit back and let things happen. Without interfering. It just wasn't fair. They'd all sacrificed so much, pulled each other through so much fannish hell, just to be where they were right then and there. But the person they'd come to rescue just didn't want them around when he made The Big Move, and it was all somewhat disappointing. There had to be _something_ they could do to help him... An idea struck him. Yeah, they could do that. Strictly speaking, it wasn't interference at all... "Heather. Got that hook up with GCHQ worked out yet?" The young woman looked up from her Terminal. "Yes. I had to get your Langley friends to put some pressure, but I believe some sort of an agreement has been worked out. Anyway, we can get a hi-res feed anytime we want it." Doug smiled. Good. "Get the image up. If it's clear, tell Three and Four to break off and rendezvous at the parking lot." Yeah. This should help. This should help him lots... Heather suddenly looked up from her terminal. "Diane! Left side of the road!" she shouted quickly. A screech, a crunch, the sound of broken glass, and a very succinct curse were heard in quick succession, all coming from outside. "Sorry!" ***** An eminent Earth philosopher, she had heard, had once made the observation that when you were on fire, people have a tendency to get out of your way. The same held true, evidently, if you also went about holding an instrument capable of bestowing that particular honor on someone. People were getting out of her way, most quite hurriedly. A small group of teenagers took one look in her direction, and immediately turned and ran; another young woman, in a nurse's uniform and shepherding a pair of very young unruly children, bodily threw her charges into a buggy and beat a hasty retreat. Even the animals and birds seemed to sense the importance of her presence, for they seemed to have suddenly decided en masse that their business was best carried on in locations as far away as possible. She thought that it was very sporting of them, that they should all recognize the value of her pet project, and of how much easier it was when she was given a clear shot at Him. Not that she wasn't above using area-effect methods, mind you (as proved by #333, Full Body Destruction, Cruise Missile); but truth to tell those lacked that certain degree of finesse she was actually aiming for. Besides, collateral damage was just plain messy; even if she didn't have to clean up the results, there was the aesthetics of it all to consider. No, no it was far better that she confine herself to this one target. It was good that everyone obliged her by not seeking to get in her way; obviously, they understood the importance of her mission. Except for that pesky ADF lot, two of whom evidently still lingered some meters behind. She glanced around. Still no sign of Him yet. She supposed there was a remote possibility He was somewhere else, or would be coming from some other direction, than that which her instincts told her. But no, no. She would find Him here. She wasn't certain how she knew, but knew it she did. They would meet somewhere in this park, and they would... _she_ would... continue the... the... experiment. Yes, that was it. Continue the experiment. She already was composing the notebook entry in her mind. ***** Wesley had to shove his tricorder under the stall door to get him to budge. On the small screen was a very short message, addressed to a certain Rec.Arts news group, and directing to a URL whose contents everyone "just had" to view. The message had not yet been sent, but it carried the desired effect. They tucked the neatly laundered and folded towel into his hands, and hustled him out of the restroom. A few of the usual pub patrons were there, but none gave them any special notice. Taking that as a good omen, Wesley and Lucas each gripped an arm and half-pushed, half-dragged Adric before them to the entranceway, then shoved him out the door. They had not gone three steps when he bumped into someone: a very small, elderly man in the garb of a Buddhist priest. The tiny man looked up from beneath his wooden-bowl hat, and suddenly began to vehemently shake his walking stick, screaming quick words in Japanese pertaining to ominous omens and bad luck. The priest immediately produced a white necklace of some kind, went to his knees, and began to offer a series of quick prayers. "Great. Just great." Adric mumbled. ***** Once more, not too far away -- approximately 35,790 kilometers away, as a matter of fact -- a satellite received a priority message from its controllers. Being a good, well-programmed satellite, it obeyed immediately. It dutifully reoriented one of its cameras away from its current assignment (that of keeping an eye on troop movements in an area known as Kosovo), and instead turned it upon a new target further north and to the west. The new coordinates were provided in the transmission. It adjusted its focus, and began to transmit the data on a special, reserved channel. Heavily encrypted, of course. ***** Heather gave a short clap as the image came through. It was of a park, as seen from an angle almost directly above, although Heather thought that there seemed to be a hint of parallax to the perspective. The surprisingly distinct, clearly-defined shape of a brown- haired woman could be seen in the center of the screen. "OK, Doug. We're live!" ***** They were paused at the edge of the park. They knew she was in there somewhere, and judging by the number of frantically retreating beings, they figured they were probably headed in the right direction. But Adric wouldn't budge. "Why are you making me do this?" he complained, his feet rooted, his heals dug in so hard that they threatened to leave indentations in the concrete. "You know I'll just end up as well-done steak." "Truth?" Lucas responded, "Because you'll never do it on your own, so someone has to step up and give you a quick kick in the behind." "That's because I'm not stupid enough to try this. Luke, Wes... you two really have _no idea_ what she's capable of." "You're wrong. We know exactly what she's capable of. Believe me, we've seen it more times than we like." Wes interjected. "But Adric, remember what we're saying. What if we are right? What if the root of all of this is because she's too stubborn to admit what she really thinks? You've said it yourself; up until this started, she was always the reserved, repressed sort. Well, something must have caused her to snap in your direction." The bloody thing of it was, Adric mused to himself, they almost made insanity sound so damn reasonable. Wes continued. "Look. One minute. That's all it takes. One minute, and we'll all know who's right. You've spent much more time than that just agonizing over it." "I'm not agonizing over anything -- don't smirk at me like that! I'm just not particularly interested in making myself even more of a laughing stock than I already am." "In other words," Lucas pointed out, "you're scared." "Of her? Who wouldn't be?" "Different kind of scared." That actually shut him up. "Ok, I admit it." Wesley began anew. "We don't really know what's going on inside her head. But brooding in a dark corner waiting for enlightenment is not the way to find out. And don't tell me you don't, because we've all seen you do it." The young man paused, as much for effect as to get his breath. "If you want to get to the bottom of this, if you really want to know why it is you're always the target... then this is the best way to do so." "If we're wrong, fine." Lucas offered. "We'll own up and not push you again." "But if we're right... you'll have the opportunity to bring an end to this once and for all. Make things better for you, maybe even happier. Isn't that worth the risk?" "You've got nothing to lose but another punch in the card." "And everything to gain." So damn reasonable, he thought to himself. So bloody, gods-damn reasonable. ***** A few minutes later, Adric found himself standing, alone, at a fork in the path. From one side, a young woman was anxiously making for the park entrance, pushing a buggy carrying two children. The Alzarian took that as a probable omen, and headed in that direction. His thoughts had started to betray him. Maybe she does like me, Hope reasoned. Maybe I _have_ been going about this the wrong way. Maybe I've been running away when I should have been turning around. Doubt sneered. Maybe I'm just stuck in an O. Henry story, waiting for the noose to tighten. A couple of teenage kids ran up the path towards him, stopped, took one look in his direction, and immediately scattered. Look, Hope. We've already covered this ground. What's the real likelihood, hmm? She's popular, I'm not. She's got a future, I'm space dust. She's smart and intelligent and self-assured, I'm geeky and whiny and prone to second-guessing myself. She's got legions of admirers, I've got the pontifications of David J. Howe. She's got everything, I've got nothing. It just doesn't add up. A pause at another fork as he considered options. Hmmm. There was a certain terrified look to that leaping squirrel. Perhaps that direction? So, why are you really doing this? To get them off your back? Or because maybe you think there is a chance? There is no chance. If there was... But if there was a chance, wouldn't you take it? Don't you want to take it? Well? But it's not likely... Who cares if it's not likely... would you take it? Well... He rounded a copse of trees... and there she was. He took a deep breath. Relax. Underneath it all, she's still just a girl. OK, a young woman. But still... it's not like she's an alien or something... well, actually, technically she was, but that was beside the point. Relax. Billions of beings do this every bleeping day. Relax. It's no big deal. Relax. He gulped, and let out the deep breath. Let's get this over with. ***** "There he is!" Vick3ie observed, pointing to a small figure on the screen. "Di, stop the truck!" Doug ordered. Walter leaned forward and adjusted terminal controls. "Don't we have a way to listen in?" he asked. Behind him, Heather picked up a gun-like contraption with a large parabolic dish at the front end. She stepped to the front and aimed it toward the side-window of the cab. "We do now." she commented. ***** She heard her name shouted behind her, and was already turning before she identified the voice. She brought the flame-thrower barrel to bear in his direction. He was walking directly toward her. Rather fast. And didn't seem to be watching where He was going. Typical, just typical. A folded something was tucked underneath one arm. She almost flamed him right then and there on principle, but strangely held her fire. Something was wrong, she thought; He never walked up to her like that when she held a weapon in plain sight. She watched him carefully. "What do _you_ want?" "Ummm, h-h-hello, errr.." he managed to stammer as he came within earshot of her. "I've been, umm, that is, fancy meeting..." Her eyes became very thin. "Adric..." she said, her voice dripping with icicles. "What are you doing here?" ***** Back in the truck, Five members of the Adric Defense Force leaned toward the speaker, straining to hear the words. A sixth member held the parabolic-dish contraption aimed out the window. "Come on." Heather muttered, "Don't be such a sod. Ask her." ***** "Um, um, nothing, actually. I, um, was just going out for a walk in the park... and, well, um..." She adjusted the nozzle, then noticed something behind Him. That package delivery truck was in the distance, parked, with some kind of odd weapon aimed in their direction. That ADF lot. She hadn't seen them for some time. Where were they? But He was here... An ambush? Adric glanced at the weapon. "The flame-thrower?" he said, weakly. "You know, you're actually rather late. Susan and Dodo already had a go with me on that..." ***** The ADF cringed in unison. "Dear god..." one of them groaned. ***** She eyed Him suspiciously. Something was very, very wrong here. Her instincts told her to flame and run. But for some reason, she found herself holding. "Umm, err, I got your towel back from Doug." he foundered, proffering the Marvin-The-Martian clothe as if he had just remembered its existence. "Remember, you should always know where your towel is..." He ended the last with a short, nervous laugh. ***** Six heads were now burying themselves in the palms of six corresponding pairs of hands. "He's going to need a lot more help than I thought." Vick3ie muttered, shaking her head in exasperation. ***** "Drop the towel and step away." she said evenly. Perhaps He thinks I won't flame Him so long as He held the towel... But, if that were the case, why was He obeying her and letting it drop? ***** He let the towel drop to the ground, and then took two steps back. This is going better than I expected. At least one minute, and she hasn't flamed me yet. Good. Now is the time... "Thank you." he heard her say, with a slightly odd, questioning tinge in her voice. "That should make this much less difficult." "Yes, quite." He agreed, hurriedly. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Anyway, err, um, the reason... Uh, I was wondering if..." WHOOOOOOOOSSSSSHHHH!!! SPURT!!! CRACKLE!! Sizzle, sizzle. "...well, you know, if you would be interested in doing something on Friday night..." He opened his eyes, to find that everything was now dancing shades of orange and red. "I'M SORRY," a voice sounded behind him, apologetic. "BUT I BELIEVE I HAVE PRIOR COMMITMENTS FOR THAT EVENING." ***** She took two steps to the side, to give herself a clear view should anyone else be coming. But no one appeared. Snipers were possible, of course, but she'd just sent Him to temporary oblivion, and they hadn't done anything to her about it. Not even a warning shot. How odd. They must have had some reason. The truck was still there, in the distance, but there did not appear to be any activity from it. Even more odd. She picked up the towel, unfolded it to make sure it was not damaged, and then threw it over her shoulder, the last mostly because she didn't have any other way to carry it. As she did so, she glimpsed the blackened remains turning to ash in the pyre, but then turned away without dwelling much more upon them. There was no point now, after all; and besides, burned flesh made such a dreadful stench. Instead, she carefully noted the time, and began her retreat toward the 'Round. That was where He'd most likely go afterwards, she reasoned, although of late He had been hanging out at that wretched establishment over anime-side. Anyway, if she was lucky, He'd go to the pub directly afterwards and she could get a confirmation of sorts on her reconstitution estimate... Still no response from the others. She was almost to the safety of the trees, too. How very curious. Momentarily, she wondered what it was He'd been about to say. For once, she actually regretted having not held her trigger finger in check, if for no other reason than amusement's sake. A second more and she'd have found out, maybe even have an answer as to why it was He'd actually sought her out. Oh well. Considering the source, she supposed it wasn't important. No, not important. Never important. More of his annoying chatter, most likely. Not important at all. Unless... No. After all, a distant part of her asked, quite seriously. What was the likelihood? Really? ***** They were still shaking their heads minutes after the pillar of flame burned itself out. Di was the first to snap out of the spell, being the practical sort after all. "Well... that was a right disaster." she said, quietly. Doug nodded gravely. "Did we get it on tape?" Walter, sitting beside Heather before the electronic forest, examined one of the VCR's near him. "Yeah. Not that it does us any good." He reached forward to eject the tape. "I don't think that was the proof Ryoko was hoping for." "He'll do better next time. I'm sure of it." Heather looked up at Doug dubiously. "After this, are you sure they'll even be a next time?" Diane nodded in confidence. "Wes and Ryoko will make certain of it. Just watch." "Uh huh. This isn't over, not by a long shot." Doug said, taking the tape from Walter's hand. "And if he doesn't want us around when he tries to play Romeo -- you can see his point, can't you? -- then it's our job to make sure he at least has the opportunity." The other five looked around at each other, uneasily. Something was cooking in fearless leader's brain, and not one of them had an idea as to what. The ADF guy didn't seem to notice. Instead, he took a long, hard look at the video tape in his hands. "Even if it means we have to be... discreet... about getting the job done." One lock of hair fell dramatically across his forehead as he said the words. Under the circumstances, it was the best that could be arranged. After all, it was rather hard to contrive proper drama in such an enclosed space. --DBK 22 May 1999 ***** COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMERS "Doctor Who" characters and concepts copyright the British Broadcasting Corporation and their respective creators. "This Time Round" was created by Tyler Dion, whose ideas we have shamelessly stolen and periodically forget to credit. Gomenasai. Wesley Crusher (ST:TNG) copyright Paramount, Lucas Wolencek (Seaquest DSV) copyright Amblin Entertainment, Ryoko (Tenchi Muyo) copyright Pioneer Entertainment. The anthropomorphic figure of Death has been around for a few centuries, but is currently under contract with Terry Pratchett. This is a work of fanfiction. Absolutely no intention was made to infringe upon copyrights already held by others, and besides, I have no money, so please don't sue me. Original story and concepts copyright 1999, Douglas B. Killings, all rights reserved. If I catch anyone making any money off of this story, I will hunt them down and kill them. *if it doesn't belong to me, it belongs to the BBC, unless it belongs to those two lovely people who thought of this pub thing, but whose names I can't quite remember, though I am sure to be reminded very shortly*