Part the Second: Brains, Grains, and Radio Waves

"Dexter?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Want to tell me the deal with the popcorn?"

"Um, not really."

"Tough."

One week prior:

"Eaten ze brainen is not German!"

They sat on the sofa in front of a massive television screen, riveted by their late-night viewing of the B-movie classic Band of Zombies. Dexter was having a difficult time accepting the concept of Nazi zombies and he could not understand (or keep quiet about) how such disorganized, slow-moving creatures were able to catch any of the apparantly inept American troops they had surrounded in a medieval castle, nor why so many high-ranking Nazis should converge on one point in the French countryside. He was keeping Ben highly amused with a running commentary on historical inaccuracies in the movie from sets to uniforms to troop movements. The redhead was alternating between talking to Ben and exclaiming at the television, and Ben was having more fun watching Dexter than the movie. He couldn't wait until they got to the part with the sharks - he was betting that Dexter would implode. Better still, Ben had the sequel in the pile of DVDs he'd brought, Nazi Zombies from Mars. He was looking forward to Dexter's opinion on the Nazis' ultra-secret space program and their unreasonable desire to conquer Mars before they conquered Europe.

"C'mon, they're zombies," argued Ben. "Cut 'em a break."

"Well, why are they speaking in English, then?"

"Because they can!"

"But why can they? And they did not call themselves Nazis. They called themselves National Socialists. Even dead they should be able to get their own party's name right."

"What do you want, Shakespeare? Besides, I bet if they said it in German, the American guys wouldn't know they were in trouble."

His accent was scathing as he said, "Yeah, because packs of roving Nazis are so commonplace and non-threatening that anyone would ignore them."

"I do. All the time," Ben laughed, digging in the bowl of popcorn.

"You're defending the Third Reich, Benjamin."

"Zombies have rights too, Dex."

"Pfft. Nobody had rights in the Third Reich." Dexter watched him pick a few pieces form the dregs in the bottom of the bowl and said, "I can make more."

"Okay." He shook the bowl and a last few burn kernels of corn rattled around as he handed it over to his friend. "Ever wonder how much popcorn we miss out on because of the ones that don't pop?"

"Never until this moment. Thank you for the suggestion." He paused the movie and stood, taking the bowl to the kitchen of the family's suite. As he dumped out the kernels into the trash, Ben's question lingered, and with a sigh of annoyance Dexter realized he now had popcorn on the brain.

The microwave seemed to take an annoyingly long time to produce the desired results as he popped more corn. When finally it was done and Dexter was pouring the popcorn into the bowl, he noticed a few stray kernels that had escaped exploding. He picked one up, holding it to eye level as he considered the blackened seed. He knew the science behind how and why corn popped – moisture and oil retained inside the kernel boiled and exploded, rapidly expanding the softened starch inside. There were a number of possible reasons why this kernel hadn't popped – temperatures too high or too low were the most common - and his mind was going over them when Ben arrived.

Dexter threw the piece of corn into the trash and growled, "Do you have any idea of what you've done?"

"Yeah, I finished all the soda," said Ben, digging in the refrigerator for more and completely missing Dexter as he rolled his eyes and looked heavenwards for strength.

Dexter being Dexter, he was unable to drop it, and the next day he sent down to the kitchens for unpopped corn. To his annoyance, the only stuff available was of the pre-packaged microwaveable variety which, he quickly discovered, did not suit his purposes. Undeterred, he called Security and ordered Sgt. Dearborn to send someone out to get him thirty pounds of unpopped, non-microwave-ready popcorn. Used to such oddball requests coming down from on high (or up from the depths since Dexter called from his laboratory),Dearborn sent an officer on a search that took the man through eight grocery stores in three towns. Hours later he returned triumphant with six full cases of the stuff, wisely figuring that more would be called for eventually and effectively hording all supplies of regular, unpopped popcorn in the whole county. (Mandark, spying on DexLabs as was his usual habit, got wind of this new snack food interest and immediately sent a team to buy every last bit of unpopped popcorn in the state in the hopes of figuring out what Dexter was up to this time. Within twenty-four hours he found himself the proud owner of three tractor-trailers worth of grain with more on the way and no idea of what he was going to do with it all, so he started by making a bowlful of hot buttery popcorn and gloating at having robbed Dexter of resources).

Blissfully unaware of Mandark's antics, Dexter carried on with his program. His intent was simple – maximum output of popcorn with a minimal amount of time and effort (after the fact – he didn't count all his time, research, and money spent as effort). That he should have been working on other, more important projects did not occur to him. Popcorn was on his mind and there it would stay until he solved this problem or got bored with it. Since the suggestion had been derived from Ben, he knew perfectly well that boredom would not factor into this. It was a challenge unwittingly handed him from the Wielder of the Omnitrix – a challenge he intended to win whether Ben knew it or not. He made no references of this new obsession to his family or to teachers since he didn't consider it to be worth mentioning. Besides, he strongly suspected his sisters would give him their usual quizzical looks that told him he was being weird and the Professor would simply start craving popcorn.

He was forced to move up to the electronics lab after two days because the ventilation system there was better equipped to cleanse the air, in this case of the smell of charred popcorn. He worked alone in what little time off he had, and it wasn't until the third day that he saw any real progress. By now he had acquired a full pallet of the type of popcorn needed - ordered for him by Chef Daal from somewhere out of state - because he was going through the stuff at a remarkable rate. The lab was full of cases of popcorn, piled high on all available surfaces.

He started with microwaves and worked his way up and down the wavelengths, subjecting corn to all sorts of radiation in varying concentrations in the name of science and a fast track to healthy snacks. By the process of elimination Dexter was able to pinpoint the exact frequency of ultraviolet waves to (almost) instantly detonate a single kernel of corn. He was satisfied, but one kernel at a time would not get him far, especially on the rare occasions when he and Ben were able to have a movie night (to date that had happened exactly twice, and Dexter was astounded at how good a really bad movie could be when you watched them with a gung-ho friend).

It was an easy enough task to make a hair blower-sized transmitter cannon to deliver a quick burst of concentrated energy capable of exploding a Petri dish full of kernels (and the Petri dish, but he didn't count that at this stage). A metal bowl worked even better because some of the waves reflected and popped more kernels. When he polished the bowl he achieved a 93% pop rate. If he could mirror the surface, Dexter was sure he could push the ratio higher still, but a layer of aluminum foil alone pushed the ratio up to 96%.

Another case of detonated corn later and he felt he could sit on his laurels. Shiny surfaces and short wavelengths were poised to revolutionize the world of movie enjoyment and popcorn technology (though he did indulge in a great deal of fun with target practice by using the transmitter like a gun to shoot individual kernels, even bouncing the beam off the shiny tiled walls to hit his intended victims). He refined the transmitter into something more streamline, rather like a cross between a hand-held radio and TV remote. He was working on calibrating it when DeeDee arrived.

"Hi, Dexter!" she shrilled, stomping into the lab unannounced, uninvited, and unwanted by her little brother.

"DeeDee, get out of my laboratory. I'm busy."

She laughed and tossed her blonde pigtails, lifting the edges of her tutu and sashaying around the lab with the graceful ease of a dancer. "No, you're not! Mmmm! You're making popcorn!"

"Obviously. How is that not busy?"

As anticipated, she had no answer other than, "Uh, I dunno."

"What do you want?" he demanded, bending over the transmitter.

"Wee!" She played with the switches and buttons on the equipment he was trying to use. "I came to see you."

Dexter slapped her hands away. "You've seen me, sister. Now go."

"You're so cute!" she cooed, immune to his sarcasm.

"And you're an idiot," he muttered. "Don't touch that!"

DeeDee drew her hand back from the microscope. "Can I have some popcorn?"

"Go ahead. Let me know if it's safe to eat."

"Okay!"

He rolled his eyes as she dug into the bowl of popcorn he had popped a few minutes ago (still at 96% pop ratio – he really needed to get a mirrored bowl). He watched, but she didn't keel over. That proved nothing – DeeDee had the constitution of a vending machine and seemed second only to Billy in being able to digest anything she could swallow. Dexter had not been so blessed as to have an iron stomach.

"So what are you making?" asked DeeDee through a mouthful of popcorn.

"A transmitter that will simultaneously pop all the kernels of popcorn that fall within the radius of its beam."

"A whu?" she asked, leaning over the radio equipment attached to the computer he was using. She was trying to see better, but really all she managed to do was drop a few pieces of popcorn as she leaned far over his work station.

"A popcorn popper. Come," he ordered, knowing he'd never be rid of her otherwise. "I'll show you."

He poured some popcorn into his foil-lined bowl and handed her a pair of goggles. "Put these on. Over. Your. Eyes," he ordered when she spent a minute arranging them just so atop her head. "Now take this transmitter and hold it directly over the bowl. That's it. Now push the button."

There was a crack! as several hundred kernels of corn simultaneously exploded, and suddenly the bowl was filled with steaming white popcorn. DeeDee gaped in delight, thrilled at the sight of so much food and she pulled the goggles off to see better.

"Oooooh! Dexter, can I have it?"

"The transmitter? No! I'm still working on it."

"Not that, silly," she said. "The popcorn."

"Oh. It's yours."

Dexter squeaked as she tossed the transmitter aside to claim her prize, lunging to catch the device before it hit the tiled floor. He scooped it out of the air and stood up, glaring at DeeDee.

"Oops," she whispered. "Sorry."

"DeeDee! You could have broken it!" Annoyed, he slapped the transmitter onto the table. He looked down in horror at his own conduct. "Crap," he added. "I think I just did."

Wide-eyed, brother and sister peered at the handheld unit, but there didn't seem to be anything immediately wrong with it. With a bit more care that before Dexter set it aside to check as soon as he could decently get rid of DeeDee. Luckily the bowl of popcorn was a big enough distraction to keep her away from the equipment in the room and she left a few minutes later. It was worth the loss of the bowl to get rid of her. Alone again, he sat down and bent over the transmitter, checking for damage and hooking it up to the computer banks to run a diagnostic. It seemed to be intact, so he set up a few test kernels to zap and make sure it was still in proper working order. He took aim, and -

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"And?"

"I realize now that DeeDee, with her obsessive compulsive button-pushing, brother-annoying disorder, turned on the amplifiers. All of them. At full volume."

"Essentially turning the whole room into one giant transmitter. Ouch."

"In retrospect, yes."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

There were over a dozen, ten-pound boxes of unpopped popcorn stacked on the lab tables around him. The instanteous detonation of almost every kernel exploded bags and boxes in every direction and filled the lab with popcorn. The abrupt concussion in so contained a space was enough to knock Dexter off of the stood he was perched upon and spill him to the floor. He remembered losing his glasses, remembered seeing nothing but fluffy whiteness for a split second. He didn't remember losing consciousness, but he did remember thinking that this was a very stupid way to be knocked out.