Invisible Sun

Chapter Seven: Dog Day Afternoon

"What are you working on, Dexter? Not a report?"

Dexter chuckled. "No, Dad, it's summer. I don't have homework. This is an application for a patent. I've created a new type of laser."

He waited for the inevitable non-reaction. His father blinked, his usual response to anything that was beyond his experience. Since most of what Dexter did or claimed to do was beyond his experience, he spent a great deal of time blinking at his son. Not exactly comfortable with inquiring further - he never knew what his questions would garner, and so he tended to avoid them in conversations with Dexter - his father moved on to safer territory.

"Uh, that's great. You visiting Professor this weekend?"

"If you and Mom don't mind, I would like to."

"No! It's great that you're finally getting out and making friends."

Dexter glanced up at that 'finally.' It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to make friends in the past - he'd just never found anyone he could relate to very well. Not even the self-proclaimed geniuses in his elementary school could keep up with him for long. It didn't help that he couldn't abide the only person his age that was close to being his peer. Dexter wondered what his father would say if he knew that Professor Utonium was a year younger than he was, not that he was going to volunteer such information.

"I'm trying, Dad," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm almost done with this. Could you drive me to the post office so I can send it certified mail?"

His father glanced at the clock. "Sure, but hurry up. They're only open until five. You hanging out with the Powderpuff Girls again?"

"Powerpuff," he corrected, thinking of how irate Buttercup would be if she heard him. She hated that. "And yes, they should be there."

His father seemed convinced the girls were either Imaginary Friends or characters from a video game no matter how many times Dexter tried to explain otherwise. Then again, he had told his parents about his laboratory last year, gave them a tour of it, and to date neither of them had mentioned it again or given any indication that their son had a vast scientific complex right underneath their house. As far as Dexter could figure, they had both written the experience off as a dream or hallucination and simply believed he had an advanced chemistry kit in his bedroom. Where they thought he kept his welders and generators and telescopes and computers and other equipment for the things he produced, Dexter could not imagine. Their state of denial was complete, and even though he had told them the truth at every turn, it clearly made no difference.

It never occurred to Dexter that his laboratory and his inventions were simply too fantastic for them to grasp or that their denial was a defensive reaction against the very strange and unexpected reality he presented. It was easier and safer to believe their son liked to dabble in experiments and had fun building robots. That he was brilliant they could not deny, but that he was a genius and polymath on a grand scale, was a published expert on a number of subjects, and that he was poised to change the world of science was simply beyond their ken. Rather than deal with such upheaval in their ordered and comfortably predictable world, they simply carried on with their quiet suburban lives as if there was nothing out of the ordinary happening in their own home.

"Ready?" asked his father, collecting his keys.

Dexter sealed the envelope. "I'll address it on the way."

"I'll get the car. Let your mom know where we're going."

"Will do. Thanks, Dad."

His father chatted about nothing as Dexter copied the address Alyssa Marsh had provided. He thought it a bit odd that she gave him a name at the Patent Office and not a general office to receive applications, but he was not about to argue with a lawyer. He owed her too much money to argue.

General Shaan, she said, had made a few calls after they had met in her office. He had provided the name to her, saying that if Dexter sent his application to the general address it would take years to be issued, whereas this man could speed up the process considerably. He wondered at Shaan's enthusiasm and support for this project. Ms Marsh had not been joking when she said the military would love the null-void, but it would take more time and money to start producing the proposed lasers than Dexter had readily available. He already had a business plan in the works. He realized full well that to expand his research he needed more money. The Megabot series was dependent upon neo-neurotomics, and the development of neo-neurotomics was dependent upon funding - funding that the null-void would provide if all went well. It seemed to him that Shaan wanted to move forward with the null-void laser at a faster pace than Dexter was ready to handle, especially since he was still in elementary school. What was Shaan's anxiety?

He would have to speak to Professor Utonium and get his thoughts on the matter. Until then, it gave Dexter immense satisfaction to have the application completed and about to be sent on its way. Checking the address once again against the email printout he held, Dexter made certain it was correct:

Max Tennyson
Mail Stop PLMB-001
Commissioner for Patents
P.O. Box 1450
Alexandria, VA 22313-1450

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Dexter planted his fists on his hips and glared at the trio of undulating, hat-wearing gray blobs he had backed into a corner of the convenience store. His bus had been early and because it was a blazing hot day and he was, as always, overdressed for the weather, he had stopped to get something cold to drink. Almost immediately he had been set upon by three gigantic, talking, not-exactly-intelligent amoebae that tried and failed to intimidate him.

"You! Repeat what you just told me!"

Bossman nervously began, "Well, it's like this, see -"

"Yeah," Junior echoed. "Like this, see."

"Shut up!" snapped Dexter and instantly all three amoebae clammed up. He pointed imperiously at Bossman. "Not you! Talk!"

"Problem there?" wondered the shop owner, completely disinterested. The Amoeba Boys, the least effective criminal element in the City of Townsville, were well known and universally disregarded as being mostly harmless.

"No!" Dexter barked, his accent thickening as he got madder. "Now talk!"

The purple finger pointing his way was like an oracle of doom to the Amoeba Boy leader, and he hastened to spill the beans. "Well, word's got out that the Powerpuff Girls have got themselves a friend, see, and, well . . ."

Dexter leaned forward threateningly. "And?"

"Well, uh, you're a target," Slim slurred, too stupid to be intimidated by the hot-tempered, impatient redhead that was seconds away from going ballistic on the lot of them. "Word's out. We know your name, Dumpster."

"Dexter," he corrected through gritted teeth.

"Princess Morbucks is back in juvie," Bossman said, "and she said you was super-strong and overpowered her."

"Yeah! Super-strong!" Junior piped, forgetting his orders.

"And Fuzzy said you was super-smart for finding Joe without lookin' or nothin'," Bossman continued. "Everyone that doesn't like the Powerpuff Girls is after you!"

"WHAT?"

Good heavens, a spoiled brat and an imbecile were giving testimony to his capabilities?

Yeah!" Junior began. "Everyone that doesn't like -"

"What did I tell you?" Dexter glared.

"Sorry," cringed Junior, sliding closer to Slim.

"Who knows my name?"

"Uh . . . everyone!" wailed the troop of amoebae, cowed by the accented fury.

Dexter stared. This was not good. This could be very inconvenient. But they were very stupid and he had a bus to catch.

"Get away from me and stay far, far away or you'll find out how smart and how strong I really am. Don't ever address me again. Is that understood?"

"Yeah, yeah, never again," they agreed. "Never, never!"

"Now go away!"

He stamped his foot. The three gigantic cells fumbled and smacked into each other as they tried to escape. Finally they settled on hiding behind a rack of magazines. Without time to get his drink now, Dexter grumbled and stomped off.

"Uh, what's he mean by a dress?" wondered Slim as they watched Dexter leave.

"He must think we're dames," said Bossman, shrugging his single-cell equivalent of shoulders. "This Dumpster kid ain't so smart after all."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"I'm very sorry, Professor."

"Don't apologize. There's no way you could have known. It's not your fault."

"Actually, sir, I learned today that Townsville's criminal population has targeted me because I'm friends with your daughters."

"Oh. Well. Welcome to my world, Dexter."

"Thank you. Buttercup did mention something about the Smiths being out of jail right before she slammed the door in my face the day we met, but I had no idea of what they looked like or that they'd try something like this."

"Maryanne Smith is the reason why I can't eat peas."

"Much as I like them, I don't blame you. She is . . . intense."

They were in the Smith's dining room, tied back-to-back by ties, belts, and scarves, and each had been bungee to his chair. It had all started when the Professor, busy in the kitchen, had asked Dexter to answer the front door. Faced by a manically grinning, frighteningly chipper, and impossibly tanned woman and chubby blonde girl who identified themselves as the next-door neighbors and asked to borrow a cup of sugar, Dexter had opened the door and was promptly seized and dragged off. Minutes later the Professor was likewise nabbed. The Powerpuff Girls were in the city opening a jar of pickles for the Mayor, and after that crisis had been averted they stuck around to thwart a robbery at the modern art museum. It would be some time before they returned and found the men of the house had gone missing.

"So . . . now what?"

"She won't do anything until her husband gets home from work at the mustard plant."

"When is that?"

"In about twenty minutes."

"Oh. Um . . . then what?"

"Things will get interesting."

"Oh. When do you think the girls will be back?"

"Dinner's at six every night."

"So we have about half an hour to . . ."

"Kill."

"I was going to say fill." Dexter leaned his head back and came into contact with Utonium's shoulder. "Professor," he whispered.

"Mmm?" answered the scientist softly.

"Can you move your hands at all?"

"A little," he whispered. "Why?"

"They left my gloves on when they tied me up. If you could hold my glove, I may be able to get my hand free."

"Keep talking," ordered Utonium, grouping for the boy's fingers.

"I mailed the application for the patent yesterday," Dexter said, scrambling for a topic to fill the silence since they'd hardly shut up since they had been accosted.

"So soon?" exclaimed Utonium with unfeigned surprise. "Does Alyssa know?"

"She gave me the green light," Dexter replied, pausing as he stretched his fingers to find Utonium's hand. He felt a twinge of panic completely unrelated to their situation. "Is it too early?"

"If she said to send it, then you send it. Alyssa Marsh is the best patent lawyer in the state. Usually it takes a lawyer two or three months to find out if you're imitating anyone else's work, not a few weeks."

"Perhaps the bibliography I gave her helped. It's the same one I gave you."

"Maybe," Utonium replied, sounding uncertain.

"She had me send it to someone named Max Tennyson at the Patent Office. General Shaan gave her the name. He told her it would speed up the processing of my application."

The Professor seized upon Dexter's fingers, holding them tightly. "That is irregular, Dexter."

Dexter snorted, returning the grip as best he could for a moment. "This whole summer has been irregular, Professor."

"Got it," whispered Utonium.

"Hold on," he replied in kind, and began to twist his sweaty hand free. Aloud he said, "I thought it odd that the Army should be so interested in my work so early on."

"It's not unheard of, but I don't think they're used to dealing with fourth graders. They probably sent Shaan just because you'd met already."

"I don't know. We didn't exactly meet under ideal circumstances." He let out a little hiss, trying to make his already small hands smaller still to get past the ugly polyester ties holding him. "Have you ever heard of Max Tennyson?"

"No." Utonium struggled to hold onto the glove as Dexter's slim fingers gradually slipped away.

"Oh. I thought he might be a scientist."

"If he's in the Patent Office, he's probably a bureaucrat."

They looked up as a male voice came from the kitchen. A moment later they both looked up as a scrawny teenage boy in full rebellious punk mode dashed around the corner to sneer at their dilemma.

"Afternoon, Buddy," said Utonium.

"Awright, Mom!" he yelled. He studied Dexter intently, taking in the glasses and the lab coat, and then laughed, showing off buck teeth and braces. "Ha! Matching geek bookends!"

Dexter frowned. "Do you even know what a book is?"

Buddy glowered, aware he'd just been put down but not exactly sure how to respond with anything other than yelling. So, he yelled.

"I hate books. And I hate geeks! I especially hate ones that talk funny like you do!"

"Bud, come wash your hands!" called Maryanne.

"I hate washing my hands!"

"And bathing, too," muttered Dexter as Bud stormed off. He got back to the business of freeing his hand. "Why are criminals in this town so adverse to hygiene?"

"They're not all like that," reasoned the Professor. "She's making him wash his hands, isn't she? Dexter," he said softly, "if you get free, I want you to get out of here immediately."

"I'm not leaving you."

"It's me they want, to get back at the girls. You're just collateral."

"Not according to the Amoeba Boys. Really, Professor, why would the Smiths wait until I was visiting to try to borrow that cup of sugar?"

Utonium glowered, defeated. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice. Y'know it wouldn't hurt to be a little less logical now and then, especially around your elders."

Dexter grinned, straining. "Don't worry," he said, panting with effort. "I have my moments. You just haven't seen . . . me . . . ow!" He bit his lip, praying none of the Smiths heard him, and let his breath out in a sigh, finishing with: ". . . do anything stupid yet."

"I doubt that happens often," Utonium said, and Dexter knew he was smiling.

"More often than I'd like to admit," he confessed. "Hold . . . on."

He yanked, feeling something twinge in his shoulder as his hand slid past the bonds. He twisted and shimmied and shook the ties off his hands. After that it was simply a matter of sliding out from beneath the bungees strapping him to the chair. Being small and scrawny was paying off for once. He scrambled to his feet just as the front door of the house opened.

"Go!" urged Utonium.

Dexter shook his head and applied himself to the Italian designer scarves holding the Professor.

"Get a knife," said the older man, jerking his chin at the table, set for dinner. Dexter seized upon a steak knife and sawed at the knots holding his friend's hands.

"Harold, I have a surprise for you!" sang Maryanne. They could hear her moving through the house as she spoke.

"Oh, goody," said a bland voice. "I could use – Maryanne! You're . . . dressed."

Utonium strained. Dexter cut faster. A final yank and the Professor's hands were free. Together they worked on the belts and bungees holding him to the chair. He was almost clear when the chubby little girl ambled by and spotted them. For a moment she and Dexter stared at one another – she in surprise and he in astonishment to see she wore a mask and a tutu that looked as if it was made of a spiked tire.

"MOM!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs. "Mom! They cut your good scarf!"

In a desperate rush Utonium threw off the last curtain tie securing him. He seized Dexter and they dashed past the howling girl. They made it as far as the kitchen before Buddy blocked the door. He was clad in an outlandish costume and cowl and brandished a tire iron, laughing manically. Maryanne Smith came into the kitchen at a run, her husband and daughter hot on her heels. She was as ridiculously dressed as her children in a mask and thigh-high boots, and she wielded two mallets. Her bespeckled husband still wore his work clothes, but somehow managed to exude an air of twisted malevolence in a myopic sort of way.

"Oh, Professor," crowed Harold Smith, clasping his bony hands. "How nice to have you back in my power! And look, you brought your daughters' little friend along for the fun! Hello, Duster!"

"My name is Dexter!" snapped the child genius, taking a step forward before Utonium pulled him back.

"Well, I really don't care," Harold said smugly, smiling down at the little firebrand being held so protectively by his neighbor. "You're guilty by association, boy."

At this point Buddy lost control and started laughing evilly. It was catchy, because Maryanne joined in and then chunky little Julie and finally the master of the house added his voice to the evil jocularity. Dexter looked up at Utonium, but the Professor just shook his head and shrugged a bit, trying not to let his disgust shine through too brightly.

"I've heard rumors about you, Duster," Harold finally said smugly.

"Dexter," hissed the boy, furious at being deliberately ignored and mocked all in one breath.

"Super strong, super smart – well you're not smarter than me! Together with my family, we're a lot smarter than you'll ever hope to be!" He laughed some more.

Dexter cast a look at the assembled crew before pushing his glasses back in place. "Don't bet on it."

"Leave him out of this, Harold," the Professor insisted.

"I'd like to, Utonium, but it's been so long since I melted anyone's head off their shoulders, I think I'll need to practice first."

"He cut my scarf by Ricardo," hissed Maryanne. "He deserves everything he gets."

"Julie, honey, go get Daddy's laser, will you?"

Julie scampered off. While they were waiting for her to return Maryanne turned on the vegetables to cook for the Smith family dinner and asked after Harold's day. It was so strange and normal all at once. Dexter glanced at the clock. It was almost six. Even if the girls got home, how would they know where to look?

Almost on cue, he could hear girlish voices calling from outside. The Powerpuff Girls had returned and were looking for their father and friend. Julie returned with the laser and Harold Smith smiled wickedly as he leveled it at the pair of scientists trapped in his kitchen.

"Not a sound out of you, gentlemen," he warned.

Dexter glared and softly wondered, "Then how about from the ladies?" Before anyone could stop him, he rounded on mother and daughter. "Julie, that is the ugliest dress in creation and it makes you look fat. Mrs. Smith, that meatloaf reeks like hazardous waste."

Twin cries of fury rose up from the insulted women.

"You little beast! That's my mother's recipe!"

"Mommy! He called me fat and ugly!"

"Actually, Julie, he called your dress ugly," Utonium corrected, getting into the spirit. "It just makes you look fat."

The whole Smith clan was shouting in defense of baby fat and meatloaf and tutus. An instant later the door burst open, the Powerpuff Girls arrived, and it was all over in a matter of seconds.

"Figured it had to be you losers," Buttercup muttered as the police marched the neighbors away for the umpteenth time.

Dexter exited the house with Harold's laser in his hand. "I've never seen a laser gun that needs an extension cord. This is not nearly as nice as the one that Princess had."

"Mr. Smith isn't nearly as smart as Mojo Jojo," Bubbles explained. "It was a good thing you got them to make so much noise. We weren't sure where you were in the house."

"How did you know it was us?" demanded Maryanne as she was led away.

"Simple," Blossom smiled. "We don't know any other criminal that would turn off the stove."

Standing together on the front lawn, they watched the police vehicles pull away. A collective sigh escaped them.

Utonium looked at the troop of children. "So, who's up for chilli?"

"ME!" four hungry voices replied.

"Inside and wash up! Chop, chop!" he ordered, swatting at them to get moving. He smiled as they crowded through the door, laughing and exclaiming and wonderfully happy and alive. If he could have had one wish, Utonium would have asked for this summer to last forever.