Chapter Three: Food and Drug Administration

"Appoplexian?"

"Giant, angry tiger alien?" countered Dexter, not exactly angling for wit or manners. He cringed as he heard something break somewhere off in the depths of his laboratory.

"Appoplexian," confirmed General Shaan, looking at him with sympathy. "I haven't seen one of them since Rayge divorced me and my brother-in-law came to yell at me for putting up with her for so long."

Dexter stared at the only Plumber he trusted. "You were married one of them?" he asked before he could stop himself. It was a very personal question, but Shaan had raised the topic himself.

"Actually, Rayge married me. I had no clue. They can do that on Appoplexia. Keep the doors locked if you ever visit." Shaan smiled, amused at the boy's horror. "So what happened? Is the Omnitrix broken again?"

The young scientist made a face at the foot-high hologram of the Plumber being projected by the comm unit, knowing that Shaan saw a similar image of him where he sat at a desk at the Lakehurst Naval Air Station in New Jersey. Dexter was aware that his anger was completely unreasonable and unfair, but to see the General dressed for a round of golf was galling.

"It's not broken. Ben came by to visit me as I was letting my cat sample some new varieties of catnip I've been developing for-"

"Catnip?" barked the Plumber, his dark eyes wide. "You gave an Appoplexian catnip? Are you nuts?"

"I didn't give it to him, he took it. Ben smelled the stuff I grew for Einstein and turned into a giant furry and shed all over the house."

"Dexter, catnip – or whatever it is in that stuff that makes cats go nuts - is the Appoplexian equivalent of speed. It's a banned substance on Appoplexia and drug runners in that sector are constantly being intercepted with cargos of it. How much did he consume?"

Dexter shifted, suddenly self-conscious and uncomfortable. "Um . . . almost eight ounces."

"Fresh?"

"Dried."

The general stared at him, open-mouthed. Dexter felt panic sweep down upon him.

"WHAT?" he squeaked. "I've never seen this alien before! How could I know? What was I supposed to do? It was a complete nightmare getting him down here! He was arguing with the elevator!"

As he spoke an enraged roar echoed through the laboratory followed by a challenge shouted at the stairs and then cursing and a loud crash.

"What is he doing?" demanded Shaan, concerned. He instinctively tried to see beyond Dexter.

"I'm keeping him busy. He's moving a Megabot to the other side of the lab for me."

"Something about the catnip must have activated the Omnitrix. Stuff like that's happened before. Dexter, your best friend is strung out on feline speed. Whatever you do, don't let him get any more of that stuff and for gods' sake, be careful! Appoplexians are dense and argumentative at the best of times. Is Security down there with you?"

"No, but Computress is on alert. She's ready to lock him in a force field if he becomes violent."

"He hasn't?" Shaan's surprise was genuine.

"No. Not with me. Rath's dumber than Plank and he threatened his reflection in a mirror, but he hasn't aimed any aggression at me."

"Well, on top of everything else, Appoplexians are loyal. He knows you're his friend. Thank god," he added under his breath. "I'd still feel better if Morton or Green was with you since your father is out."

"Sgt. Morton knows and is monitoring me, Mr. Green is off today, and Dad's promised the girls for months to take them shopping. He'll be vaporized if he tries to leave the mall now. How long should this state last?" wondered Dexter, trying not to sound too anxious.

"Figure an hour an ounce, give or take, depending on how potent the catnip happens to be-"

"Extremely."

"Of course. Try doing something by halves one of these days, will you? If you can get a lot of food into him he might sleep. Overeating knocks them out."

Dexter was speechless. A little less than three hours had already passed. Five more hours of this raging idiocy? Five more hours - at least – of Ben on a bender? Why hadn't he gone shopping with his sisters? That would have solved all problems and given him something to gripe about since he hated shopping as much as he hated banjo music. Even the Downtown Mall held more appeal than his laboratory right now, and he'd never thought the day would dawn when shopping for shoes would trump radioactive isotopes. (Not that he could leave, of course, being subject to arrest by his own security force, the KND, and ECF if he so much as stepped outside the building – his building - thank you, Mandy). Ben was his best friend and he loved him dearly, but he was sorely regretting having opened the door earlier.

"I'll see what I can do. Do you think he'd like chili fries in this form?"

Shaan snorted. "There's not much that's edible that Appoplexians don't like, son."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Food. It shouldn't be this difficult.

Since just yesterday he had been powder coating three new shock cannons for the Terror to replace the ones destroyed by his Fusion Double, they absolutely could not eat in the lab for fear of ingesting any stray particles left in the air. Dexter had to abandon the safe and appealing idea of simply sending to the kitchens for a feast, watching Rath gorge himself and, hopefully, going right to sleep. His private rooms down here were also out of the question since Morton could not monitor him in there. Finally Dexter decided to risk one of the corporate meeting rooms. He still had three of those that hadn't been taken over by Earth's Combined Forces and he should be able to get Rath there with minimum (for the situation) difficulty.

"Mr. Israth!" he called, following the trail of broken machinery and old parts to where Rath was industriously and repeatedly kicking a piece of the Megabot's armor plating out of sheer fury. "Mr. Israth?"

"What do you want, Dexter Boy Genius with the really stupid last name?" bellowed the tiger. "Rath is busy!"

"Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

He paused, gnashed his teeth at the armor, and yelled, "Rath is always hungry!"

"That's good. Let's take a break, then. What do you like to eat?"

"Food!"

Well, he'd asked. "I'll call for food to be prepared and we can go eat when you're done teaching the Megabot a lesson. Does that sound like a good idea?"

"Yeah." Rath resumed kicking. "Sounds good. This guy's almost had enough."

"Excellent. Let me know when it surrenders. I'll be right downstairs."

Dexter glanced back at Rath a final time before hurrying down the steps to his work station. It was hard to believe that was Ben. It seemed his IQ plummeted while in Appoplexian form, though that sheer strength and aggressiveness would undoubtedly have good application in a fight. While academically Benjamin Tennyson was no Rhodes Scholar, he possessed the ability to comprehend complex theories and concepts when they were presented in broad terms. Moreover, he was a skilled leader and had his own brand of genius when it came to tactics and thinking out of the box. Best of all, he was completely unintimidated by Dexter's intellect, wealth, and arrogance, and he had never tried to take advantage of Dexter's age and relative inexperience with life beyond the laboratory (barring video games).

He was relieved to reach Chef Daal when he called the kitchen, not his wife or his assistant or his apprentice since Dexter ranked them as abrasive, incomprehensible, and obsessive-compulsive (little realizing most people applied all three adjectives to him within minutes of meeting with him). There was no denying that they certainly knew how to cook. At the moment Dexter called, Mung Daal had been baking, because his blue skin was powdered with flour. He smiled to see his employer - whom he had never actually met in person – and twirled his moustache in anticipation of a challenge.

"Chef Daal, I want to order a private luncheon to be served in meeting room three, please."

"The pleasure will be mine," smiled the old man. "How many people will there be?"

He thought, wondering how much food an Appoplexian might consume versus how much Ben could consume. A lot in either case, he decided. Rath was the better part of eight feet tall and looked to be made of solid muscle, and Ben was at an age when he could eat endlessly. "There will only be two of us, but I'll still need food for about ten people. A lot of food. It's a long story," he added when the chef looked surprised. "My guest has a large appetite."

"That's how I like 'em," said Daal. "Salad and desserts, too?"

"Yes. And don't use any sort of mint in anything, please. He . . . doesn't react well to mint."

"Allergic, eh? No fears. We're on it," was the happy promise. "When would you like to eat?"

"As soon as possible."

"We'll start setting up now and bring the food in half an hour. Chowder!" he shouted to his apprentice before the comm link turned off.

Dexter sighed, dropping into a chair. How long could he get Rath to eat? He'd willingly spend the rest of the day watching the tiger scarf down every last bit of food in the entirety of DexLabs just to keep him calm and safe (relatively speaking) and out of trouble. More trouble. If only he could get him to fall asleep. He could still hear shouts echoing through the laboratory from the upper level, and he ventured up the stairs again to check on his friend. Rath had knocked the armor plating to the ground and was jumping up and down on it. Dexter sat down on the step to watch, praying Rath didn't hurt himself. It didn't seem likely, but he didn't want Ben to come out of this battle damaged when he hadn't actually been in battle.

"Had enough, Megabot?" crowed the tiger, standing atop the plate and pointing down at it. "Give up now? You want some more hurt put on ya?"

"I think it's dead," Dexter ventured after a few minutes. He looked at Rath in feigned admiration. "Well done. That piece has always been a trouble maker."

"Yeah, well, Rath took care of it for you, Dexter Boy Genius with the really stupid last name."

"Thank you for putting it in its place."

"Yeah, well, you're a shrimp and no way you could do as good a job as Rath. Beating up machines always makes Rath hungry! Let's eat!"

"We'll be going upstairs. Please don't punch the elevator again."

"No promises!"

"Of course not," Dexter said, slowly walking in the direction of the exit and leading Rath along with him. "But I'll thank you to try. Just think - the elevator leads such a dull life in comparison to you. Delaying us must be its only source of fun."

"Rath says it's a totally stupid elevator, then!"

"Dexter agrees," he sighed, weary.