Patton stood outside Candy Hall, the aptly-named sweet section of the Moonbase's eating compound. She was in the same place as usual-at the center of the room, seated at a prominent table. This was Fanny's personal table-it was made of glazed mahogany and furnished with exotic flowers and a deck of cards. Hardly anyone ever joined her. But that was her doing-access to her table was by invitation only. Anyone who broke the rule was suspended from the Kids Next Door for six hours. Patton had tried to get her to open up on several occasions.

"At least give it a try. You might make some friends that way." he had suggested the last time, a year ago.

"Thanks Numbuh 60. But I'm happy the way I am. I've tried being social. It's never worked for me."

Was that true? Patton wasn't sure. He liked to think that it was simply tough talk. She certainly acted differently around him and Numbuh Three. And she would have had flashes of sincerity and embarrassment whenever the subject of birthday party came up in a conversation. But Fanny never followed up these flashes with action, which seemed to confirm her statement. Either that, or she didn't know how.

Maybe things would have turned out differently if she had chosen her career path more carefully. Becoming Head of Decommissioning three years ago had destroyed Fanny's popularity-or at least what remained of it. But she'd had no choice. As long as Numbuh 274 had remained Supreme Leader, she had been effectively banned from all attractive high-ranking positions. No wonder then, that she carried a universal grudge against boys. They had deserted Fanny when she had been framed for the theft of Numbuh 274's priceless heirloom. It was a stunning display of pettiness and nastiness. Her only fault had been to win the KND Annual Wrestling Challenge two days earlier.

Patton clutched Numbuh 274's letter in his pocket. He remembered the incident well, particularly its final act.

By order of the Supreme Leader, the Command Bridge room had been emptied. Only Numbuh 86 and Numbuh 274 remained there. Head pressed against the room's door, squeezed between thirty other eavesdroppers, Patton listened to the conversation unfolding. Behind him, more than a hundred operatives crowded the Antechamber, waiting for an update from the front line.

"Why won't you believe me, Numbuh 274?! I've never stolen anything from a fellow operative."

"I don't see why I should believe you. The case is clear. Not only were you caught red-handed with my clock in your bag, but your fingerprints were all over it."

"But I told ya, it wasn't me. It was a set-up. I was framed by that sore loser Numbuh 66!"

"I don't think so , 86. See-"

"Plus, I've got a petition signed by 600 girls asking ya to drop the case. Here, see for yerself." There was a rustling sound as Fanny unfolded the petition's four pages and presented them to Chad.

"That's very touching, Numbuh 86, but my decision is final. I don't care how many operatives sympathize with you. And Numbuh 66 couldn't have framed you, because he was in cahoots with you."

"In cahoots? What?!"

"Yeah. His fingerprints were on the clock too."

"Then he must have been desperate to frame me! Think about it, Numbuh 274. Why would I team up with that dunderhead?"

"Sorry, but I'm not buying that excuse. No one could be that desperate to frame you, Numbuh 86."

"There must be something I can do to change your mind. Please?"

Chad sighed in the manner of a kid who had just been served an extra helping of spinach. Then he apparently clasped Fanny's shoulder. "Relax, Fanny. This isn't the end of the world. You're not being expelled from the KND, just barred from most senior positions. And suspended for three days. That's my decision."

Patton heard Numbuh 274 walk away. Then a loud ringing sound reached his ears, as if someone's knees had hit the iron floor.

But it was no good dwelling on the past, even if Fanny did it constantly. All Patton could do now-thanks to the letter in his pocket- was to soften the blow of the bygone incident.

He swept the doors of Candy Hall aside and marched through the cafeteria, towards Fanny's table. Along the way he was struck by how quiet and subdued the hall was. Patton rarely lingered in the Moonbase, but when he did, he always found the station's leisure spots to be raucous and bustling. But there was an easy explanation: it was Friday afternoon. The kids present were exhausted after a week of working like slaves.

Reaching Fanny's table, he immediately grabbed a seat. "Mind if I join you, Numbuh 86?"

Heavily absorbed by her copy of Machiavelli's the Art of War-she didn't look up. "Ya can sit down as long as ya don't get obnoxious. Any obnoxious business, and I'll have to ask you to leave." she said curtly.

Patton felt his lips curl into a smirk. "Gee, that's all? No invitation to the sparring room? No tantrum?"

"Would ya please stop it with the jokes on my temper? It's been five months since I graduated from anger management." she uttered wearily.

"Oh come on, I'm just trying to have some fun."

"And I just want some peace and quiet." And she plunged back into her book.

"Come on Fanny, this might be your last time in the cafeteria. Don't spend it reading a book!" Patton exclaimed. He plucked the Art of War from her hands and ran his eyes over it curiously. He had never realized how old this book was. Its pages were a deep shade of yellow and threatened to crack when he touched them. "Where did you get this piece of junk, anyway? It looks like it belongs in a museum. "

"It's a family heirloom." retorted Fanny, seizing her belonging back brusquely. "And besides, it's has been invaluable to my performance as a Global Tactical Officer."

"Invaluable? Wait a minute, are you saying you were a successful Global Tactical Officer?"

She crossed her arms tightly, not liking the skepticism in his voice. "Of course I am. I think my record after I took therapy speaks for itself. Under my leadership, we abolished dental torture, reduced broccoli farming by more than 60%, and convinced a third of Evil Adult Industry's employees to desert. Oh, and we put a cap on daily math homework requirements. I've accomplished more than the last three Global Tactical Officers put together. I think in the future, kids will know me as the most improved operative of my generation." Her voice was smug, but he also detected a hint of uncertainty.

"Under your leadership? What exactly has your contribution been?" questioned Patton. "Because from what I've heard, you have some very good ideas, but you tend to panic when the plan goes wrong. And you only accept advice when it suits you. Remember when a meatball shower was headed towards the Moonbase, and you refused to evacuate?"

She flushed and resisted the urge to get up and storm off. The nerve of him! No one questioned her abilities and achievements, least of all Patton Drivlosky. "Is that you talking or the High Council?"

"It's both! I'm just repeating what the High Council says every week. "

"Well you shouldn't be. The others don't know what they're talking about. They don't see me working for entire days, so they can't get an accurate picture. Only Numbuh Five does, and she usually has good things to say about me."

"Yeah, but I don't think Numbuh Five is being truthful. I know this sounds harsh-" Patton began.

"Besides", she plowed on, "who are you to criticize me? You don't have a difficult job. All ya have to is make sure that the cadets don't goof off and keep the Arctic Base safe. And ya can't even do that. There's a break in at least once a week at your place. And don't even get me started on the Code Module tampering."

Patton stood up brusquely, fists clenched. "That's a lie and you know it!" He shook his head, struggling to remain in control. "You've got some nerve, making totally unfounded accusations like that."

It was Fanny's turn to look impish. "Gee, and they say I have a temper! What's the matter, can't handle a little criticism?"

"Okay, first of all, the break-ins are always done using pyrokinetic equipment. I can't do anything about them, because in case you haven't noticed, the whole fortress is made of ice! Second of all...I'm getting some cookies. I am not losing this argument."

Fanny watched him amble away. She actually glad he'd dropped by, though she would never tell him that. A conversation with him was always enjoyable. Not just because he was courteous, though that helped, but because he possessed endless reserves of wit and humor. He was invariably able to bounce back her reproaches, like an expert ping-pong player, and was a masterful imitator. In fact, Patton and Fanny had played a game for six months now on the KND monitors (when they were bored): it consisted of seeing how long Fanny could hold out without the boy making her laugh. They still played it now. Rachel had made them stop, but Abby was considerably more obliging. To top it off, he was one of the few people who didn't bow down to her atrocious temper, even though she could easily beat him in a fight. It was too bad Patton was such a rarity among boys. If more people were like him, she wouldn't be lonely as she was now. Not that the issue really bothered her. What mattered was being respected, and pushing back the intellectual and physical limits of children.

As for friends, they were a liability at best, a danger at worst. That was what her mom and and always told her, and they knew what they were talking about. Dad especially-he'd maintained his position as CEO of Galatech for ten years now by using a divide and conquer strategy. Hr own experiences suggested the same thing. She remembered the Moonbase's Artillery Master, Sarah McMillan. For several months, Sarah and her had been constant companions. Then Mrs. McMillan stopped working at Galatech, and Sarah had furtively found some new friends. Then there was the Great Treasure Hunt from the last three days of third grade. Almost every kid in school had been clueless because the teams had been chosen randomly and they weren't accustomed to working with strangers. Unsurprisingly Fanny's team had emerged victorious, because she alone didn't rely on knowing her partners well. It was ironic, given that the main point of the Treasure Hunt had been to promote a spirit of harmony among the school's grades. But that wasn't all. There had been more than half-a-dozen Sarah MacMillans since the original. The tactics they used to gain Fanny's sympathy varied, but their goal was always the same: to use her to get something they wanted, whether trivial or serious. Fanny supposed that these courtesans were the price to pay for her multiple skills, like speaking fluent Irish, sneaking into a rated R movie, playing the flute, or having a brown belt in taekwondo. Anyway, she was being overly pessimistic. The courtesans weren't all bad news. They too could be manipulated, as Machiavelli would have told her.

The other comforting fact was that she had had become increasingly skilled at detecting insincerity. It had taken her just a few minutes to unmask the last admirer, who obviously needed her help to learn Irish. But the best justification of Fanny's philosophy, her crowning achievement in that respect, had been the recent article she'd written for the Galla Lab. In short, the article argued that kids (like adults) were inherently selfish, and that their friendships invariably had selfish motives. Accordingly, for a friendship to last it had to be mutually beneficial, unless one of the friends employed force, lies, or intimidation. The article had been extremely well received by the faculty-so well, in fact, that Fanny was now being considered for the award of Excellence in English.

On his way back to the table, armed to the teeth with cookies, Patton indulged in a little daydreaming. He was sure that no one would interrupt him during his break.

"Numbuh 60, it's Numbuh Five here. " He was jolted awake.

"Numbuh Five, you scared me!"

"Sorry pretty boy, but you left your comlink on."

"So what if I did?" He regained his seat.

"Nothing." chuckled the Supreme Leader. "Numbuh Five just wonders what you see in Numbuh 86."

"Actually, I see myself. With a little bit more standoffishness and culture."

"Oh, right. Anyway, it's none of my business. Numbuh Five just wanted to make sure that you weren't making a big mistake."

"Thanks for the thought, but I know what I'm doing."

"I'll let you go then, so you two can play laughing games, or whatever it is you do together."

"Who was that?" asked Fanny, arching an eyebrow.

"The Supreme Leader. Is it just me, or is she a little...snobbish?"

Fanny shook her head slowly. She looked bored. "It's not just you. She likes popular kids. Ya know, last week, we needed to appoint a mission control chief to replace Numbuh 36. I wanted to pick Numbuh 100. He had it all: he's hard-working and well-organized. And he's pretty intelligent. But no, the Supreme Leader went with Numbuh 20!"

"Numbuh 20? Oh right. The girl who came up with the idea of senior holiday retreats."

"Yeah." the Global Tactical Officer continued indifferently. "The senior operatives love her for that. Numbuh Five says that her teamwork skills are better than Numbuh 100's, but I don't believe her. And that sort of problem happens quite often. Oh well, that's life."

"And that's not all." added Patton. "When she took the job, she tried to introduce uniforms, remember? I mean seriously, uniforms! What's next, homework?!

Fanny gave a light chuckle. She definitely hadn't been amused when Abby had attempted to push through her uniform plan. "To be fair though", she considered, "they were very stylish uniforms. And she has done a good job as Supreme Leader. Although not as good as Rachel."

"I don't know. I think you're probably biased against Numbuh 5, since you liked Rachel more."

At that moment, her comlink activated. "Numbuh 86, it's Numbuh 5."

"Speak of the devil." remarked Fanny coyly.

"You're needed on the bridge. The S.P.L.O.R.C.K. is about get attacked."

"Yes sir. I'm on my way."

She glanced at Patton. "I have to go. See ya later."

As she made to leave, Patton sat up, feeling alarmed. After weeks of waiting and preparing, now was the moment of truth. He could no longer put off asking the big question-after today they might not see each other again until Sunday. "Wait don't go. I need to tell you something."

"Forget our argument, Numbuh 60. I don't want to make ya cry on a day like this."

"No I don't care about the argument. There's, uhm, something that I need to ask you."

"Well spit it out, then!" ordered Fanny.

Patton's mind scrambled to get his request right. He tried to soothe his nervousness by imagining Fanny in a pink fairy costume. "All right, look. I was wondering. Are you doing anything on, uh, Saturday night?"

His heart hammered against his rib-cage, but the answer came quickly and casually. "Tomorrow night? A couple of my cousins are coming over. Why?"

"Well, I was wondering I you wanted to go watch a movie with me?" He exhaled slowly. That was easier than I thought.

She stared at him, apparently nonplussed. "Huh. Ya mean, just you and me?"

"Yes. What do you say?!"

The proposal sparked a flicker of interest in Fanny's mind, the first real flicker she'd experienced today. Patton was offering her the only type of friendship truly worth having-the only one where your friend didn't desert you on a whim and genuinely cared for you. But then reality kicked in-she remembered what would happen in two days.

Patton could see that this time Fanny was fully alert. Unfortunately she shook her head. "I'm not interested. Sorry."

He felt his heart convulse painfully. "But why not? Is it because you won't remember the time we spend together?"

"No, it's not that. I'm just not sure if I can completely trust ya. I know what boys are like; ya might be trying to go out with me to impress yer friends."

"I thought you might say that. Which is why I brought a little something that might change your mind." He removed the message from his pocket and held it out. It was just five hundred printed words on a sheet of white paper. But like its author, the message's appearance was deceiving.

She snatched the paper, unfolded it, and glanced briefly at the content. "What's this supposed to be? A love letter?"

Patton lowered his voice as much as possible. "It's a letter to you from Numbuh 274. He says he realizes now that you were framed for stealing his clock. And that he's really sorry."

"When did you-"

"Get it? Last week, at his house. I had a written confession from Numbuh 66, so it wasn't hard to convince him." He settled back and waited, immensely pleased and reassured by his resourcefulness.

For the longest time,, Fanny stared into open space. Then, without bothering to spare the letter a further look, she crumpled it up and hurled it fifty feet away.

"What d'you do that for?!" cried Patton. "Don't you care that he's sorry?"

In response, she gave a howl of derisive laughter. "Don't I care?! I'm getting decommissioned in forty eight hours! I don't care what the idiot has to say!"

"Shhh! Not so loud okay?"

"But (she lowered her voice to a whisper) thanks for going through all this trouble to make me happy. It means a lot to me."

He breathed easy once more. "I...I knew it would. So, have I changed your mind?"

Fanny nodded slowly. "Aye. I take back what I said." She covered Patton's right hand with both of her hands. "I will go out with you-on one condition."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

The Global Tactical Officer held up one of her fingers sternly. "I want ya to admit to yer friends that I won the arm-wrestling match last week fair and square. None of that namby-pamby 'I was feeling sick' nonsense. Deal?"

At this unwelcome reminder of his trouncing, Patton felt his face grow hot. "No, I can't do that. I couldn't survive the humiliation. I bet the kingdom on that arm-wrestling match, remember?"

"Ya can tell your friends individually if ya want. They don't have to be in a group. Just make your choice."

He nodded, even as his lips curled in a smirk again. "You drive a hard bargain. But okay, I'll tell the truth. Fanny Pants."

The effect was wonderfully predictable. Fanny shot up like a firecracker, fists clenched. "What did ya say?!"

"Aww, what's the matter? You don't like being called Fanny Pants?" taunted Patton.

He was neck deep in rhetoricalism, of course. Fanny despised the name 'Fanny Pants' almost as much as 'toots'. It was supposed to be a Fulbright family secret, but Numbuh 85 had inadvertently leaked it to Patton about six months ago. Do not under any circumstance use the name in front of Fanny, Numbuh 85 had begged. What made it unspeakable? No one knew. Not even Fanny. In any case, Numbuh 85 could hardly have handled the situation more poorly. He'd forced Patton to choose between common sense and grand-scale insolence. It was a tribute to the Drill Sergeant's tenacity and determination that he'd managed to hold out for six months. But now at last, the fight was over.

"There's only one person who's allowed to use that name and it's not you. Apologize right now." Fanny demanded. Her voice was calm, but Patton knew it was the calm before the storm.

"Okay, I'm very sorry Fanny Pants." Patton said, smirking from ear to ear. "Is that better?"

"Three strikes and ye're dead." she warned through gritted teeth.

"Okay then. Strike three. I refuse to apologize." And with that Patton bolted for Candy Hall's doors, eighty feet away. "And you'll never make me!" he added as a parting shot.

Oh no you don't, Fanny thought. She took a deep breath, made sure her shoelaces were tied, and gave chase. "Stoopid boy!" she howled. "When I get my hands on ya ye'll be in the infirmary for a week!" A voice deep inside her said that it was silly to get so worked up over a name, and that there were better ways of handling her anger. But at the same time, he was being incredibly rude and insensitive, and she had her reputation to look after. And in fact, utter silence had fallen upon the cafeteria. Every kid present was eyeing the confrontation with baited breath. She put on a burst of speed, imagining the shocked look on Patton's face when her hands seized his shoulders and turned him around.

Patton decided to goad her even more. Too long had he been sheltered from danger and real excitement. Even the pyrokinetic breaks-in meant little, since he had an entire brigade of sergeants and technicians at his command. Now he would make up for the lost time, and make it up spectacularly.

"You'll never catch me, toots!" he called over his shoulder. "Come on, you're slow!" He threw open the doors and made for the adjacent staircase. No time to use the elevators-she was ten feet behind him and getting closer. If she caught him, he would be in for the fight of his life. But until that happened, his outburst-and her reaction-was totally worth it.

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