ACT 28: CLUB MEG

The sun was shining over Paradigm City, not a menace in sight, and Roger Smith felt terrific. He'd been cheerful waking to the high-speed version of a Chopin waltz Dorothy played on the piano and hugged her affectionately. He complimented Norman on the excellent breakfast the butler prepared. Consequently, Dorothy and Norman were both regarding him as a bomb about to detonate. But the worst was yet to come. Instead of heading off on some new negotiation or vital errand in the city, Paradigm's top Negotiator stunned them into silence with a suggestion they were completely unprepared for.

"What?" Roger regarded their blank expressions with amusement. "All I said is we should take a vacation!"

"Your fever must have returned," Dorothy stated, approaching him with caution. "Norman, could you summon the doctor?"

Norman nodded.

"Be careful, Miss Dorothy. He may be under some form of mind control."

"I am not!" Roger snapped (which was, at least, normal).

It was an inopportune moment for Colonel Dastun of the Paradigm City Military Police to arrive for a visit.

"What'sa matter," Dastun grumbled, seeing Norman's troubled expression as the butler answered the door.

"Roger is behaving in an unusual fashion, Colonel Dastun," Dorothy answered. "He was suggesting that all of us take a vacation."

The officer regarded the target of her accusation with skepticism and placed a hand on his gun holster.

"All right, who are you and what have you done with Roger Smith?"

"Very funny, Dastun," Roger said. "What's so odd about wanting to take a vacation?"

"Y'mean for you?" Dastun scratched his head. "Let's see – I seem to recall back when you worked for me you took at least twenty minutes off - once."

"I can't win," Roger complained. "I sleep a little late once in a while . . . ."

Dorothy raised her eyebrows at this description of his sleeping habits.

". . . and it gets me the piano treatment. But I propose a simple week off and people react like I'm a raving workaholic."

"Master Roger, if you don't mind my saying," Norman pointed out, "when you have been restrained from working due to illness or injury, you haven't exactly been restful." Raving would indeed have been the more correct word, but Norman kept that thought to himself.

"That's different," Roger grumbled, though he didn't elaborate. "I thought Dorothy and I could go to one of the resorts in the Eastern Dome for a week, and Norman-"

"I could not possibly leave Big O, Sir!" Norman blanched at the very suggestion. "Although I must say, a week of not having to prepare any meals, go on errands or look after anyone else does have a certain appeal . . . ."

"Then it's settled," Roger pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. "With the compensation the Yashimura Yakamoto Company just paid me for their role in 'Dr. Becklund's' little abduction scheme, I wouldn't have to work for a year – but I think a week off is enough. Of course, I'll stay in touch in case any emergency arises . . . ." A curious expression crossed his face. "Say, why are you here Dastun? Not trouble again?"

Dastun shook his head.

"Not unless you consider a lunch out with Angel and me trouble. I think she's still trying to make nice and show you and Dorothy she's turned over a new leaf. You should give her the chance." The officer aimed the last comment at Dorothy. He knew – as Roger did not – that Angel still felt a heavy burden of guilt about the way she'd treated Dorothy in the past, and was working overtime to make amends.

Roger gave Dorothy a speculative glance before accepting for them both, then invited Dastun to examine some recent 'Negotiator' information he'd turned up. As he and Dastun wandered into Roger's office to chat, Dorothy followed Norman into the kitchen to have a private word with the butler. She appeared puzzled.

"I do not think I know how to take a vacation," she said.

"Then you'll be in good company," Norman reassured her. "Neither does Master Roger. It should be an interesting learning experience for you both."

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

"You? A vacation?" Angel was laughing so hard she almost dropped her drink.

"I don't see why everyone thinks this is so strange," Roger muttered, shooting her an annoyed glance.

"Well you're not going dressed like that, I hope!" She wiped a tear away and pointed to the standard black outfit he always wore.

"What's wrong with the way I dress?"

"Roger," Dorothy said, "your sense of fashion still truly reeks."

This time Angel did drop her drink. She mumbled something about "Hawaiian pattern shirts" and practically fell out of her chair laughing. "At least . . . at least," Angel gasped for breath, ". . . tell me you have something to wear that isn't black, Dorothy!"

"I have a green dress," the android nodded.

"That's it? Only one thing?" Angel looked at her in horror. "We have to go shopping! Today! This is an emergency!"

For the remainder of the meal, Angel jotted down notes on a napkin, planning a dizzying battle campaign of store visits. Roger, desperate to avoid getting sucked into the whirlwind himself, handed Dorothy an account ID and instructed her to pick out some clothing for them both.

"And no Hawaiian shirts!" He called after her, as Angel pulled Dorothy along toward the shopping district the minute the meal ended.

"Huh. Sorry, Rog," Dastun said, picking up the check. "Looks like I landed you in trouble after all. She may be called Angel, but the only religion that woman belongs to is the Order of St. Creditcard!"

Roger's worst fears went unrealized, however, when Angel and Dorothy returned to the mansion a few hours later in only one taxicab, albeit a heavily burdened one. Dorothy used her android strength and agility to carry in a mountain of packages while Roger and Norman assisted. Angel, pronouncing herself satisfied that Dorothy and Roger could now look like they were attending a resort and not a funeral, strolled off with a mischievous smile on her face.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Emile Grandeau was a happy man. He was paid very, very well to be happy. So he was going to be happy, dammit, even with the latest catastrophe.

"No one else has found out, I take it?" he smiled in a forced fashion. "The military police have not been called?"

"No," the security guard gulped. "But, Sir, I really think-"

"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there?" Emile patted the guard on the back. "After all, what would the police think if we started bothering them with silly rumors of a sea monster? It's bad enough those superstitious maids are always raising one false alarm after another. But a mythic creature out of some child's storybook? Nonsense!"

"But people are disappearing, Sir! On our beaches!"

"Mr. Green!" Emile's grin seemed extra tight as he addressed the guard in a stern-but-happy voice, "it is the proud tradition of the Garland Rose Hotel to emphasize the positive! Remember, a permanently vanished customer is a non-complaining customer!" He took a thick wad of bills out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the guard. "You've obviously been working very hard lately. Why not go into the city and have some fun for a few days? Forget about this place."

With a sickly expression, Mr. Green gulped again and accepted the manager's bribe before shuffling off in the direction of the elevator. Emile Grandeau continued to smile as always as he watched the man retreat, and as he pressed a button on his pocket communicator.

"Mr. Troy," he whispered into the device, "I have a job for you . . . ."