His words garbled somewhat through a vocoder that made his voice sound strained yet dominating, the Mystery Engine addressed the cars again. His actual speech flowed without hesitation, leading Grem to speculate that, just as he'd claimed, he was no recluse but someone who had a gift for connecting with other cars.
"It is good to finally see you, and yes, though I'm in the midst of having a flywheel replaced, I am able to view your group through the satellite. My dearest Lemons, I wish to assure you that you and I are one and the same, and despite my need for secrecy at this crucial moment in our plot, I trust that this visual of my engine will, at least, attest to my status as a veritable Lemon." He heaved a deep sigh that was eerily distorted by the vocoder. "Through no fault of our own we were made with flaws, flaws that were only exacerbated by the Allinol test trials the majority of you were misled into participating in." The lieutenants knew he was referring to the experiment that had damaged so many of the North American Pacers and Gremlins beyond any reasonable hopes of repair, though the Eastern European Trunkovs and Hugos had simply been pushed to the margins of their society.
"Those of you who follow world events have no doubt that this is to be the Allinol corporation's summer in the sun, with the worldwide race showcasing the glories of their product. If the company's executives have their way, only the hopelessly old-fashioned will still so much as dream of using gasoline by the time autumn rolls around. Fossil fuel will be a quaint relic of a bygone era." Once again, the lieutenants at the table jeered in unison.
"The Lemon effort to fund our drilling operation in the Pacific was publicized, and yet nobody felt it right to warn us that we might be working in vain, struggling with a last-ditch attempt on the dawn of a new age in alternative fuel. Never mind that we far outdid the rest of the industry. Have we once been commended for investing in far more safety equipment than was legally required to protect the ocean life around us? Is it ever mentioned in the press that we take excellent care of our workers, with virtually no recorded accidents? Despite these achievements, the world evidently preferred to see us fail, left with even less money to spend on the repairs we so desperately need."
"Allinol is but the first tread onto a slippery slope," the Mystery Engine insisted. "Once everyone has abandoned gasoline, they'll queue up to be fitted with the next rage, an electric engine." His voice rose to a fever pitch. "On that note, this electric conversion, though not cheap by any means, is being touted as the ultimate in environmentally-friendly modification, but has anyone seen a single such engine offered to replace your model's usual motor? Oh, or is that not cost effective?" His question was met with stony silence as the Lemons realized they had indeed been left in the dust again.
"Once everyone has gone electric except us, our long-forgotten oil derricks will be left to rust away, testament to an earlier and supposedly more backwards time." He paused for a moment, leaving the Lemons to mull over this possible future when Melvin piped up with a question.
"Sir, I do have one inquiry. The Allinol test trials have left most of my friends with irreparable problems, but those experiments took place decades ago. Why is the corporation claiming its product is new and different when it's been around so long?"
The unknown vehicle, which the group had figured to be a larger model than a typical car, dipped his frame toward Melvin.
"Allinol was created ahead of its time, son, and it's easier to make someone believe in a product that's entirely new than one that's been around but has only recently caught on. Years ago the technology was there, as was the desire to create something cleaner than traditional fuel, but with gasoline still inexpensive and plentiful, the company failed to create a need for its product and sales never grew beyond the test-market stage. Few cars today even remember the fuel's earlier incarnation under another brand name, but to avoid any recollection of its less-than-glorious origins, the founder of the Allinol corporation has been touting some fairy tale of distilling the fuel himself when he was stranded in the wilderness. It saved his life, he wants to help it save the rest of the world, what's not to love?" The Lemonhead settled lower, wincing noticeably.
"I thought the fuel we were testing might catch on right away, but what did I know, I was a stupidly optimistic kid," Grem offered. "I had no clue it actually made it to market that soon after the trial, but it makes sense that it sputtered out. Back in the day, only two types had any interest in alternative fuel: hippies who wanted to save the planet and the nerds who wanted to stick it to the man cooking up biodiesel." He smirked, recalling one ambitious high school friend. "My old buddy Fry used to collect all the used grease from the local restaurants, and while he didn't have to buy his gasoline, it sure did a number on his complexion. He reeked like a deep fryer all the time, too."
Bringing the conversation back on track, the Mystery Engine interrupted. "Just as your friend's formula had its downside, so too does Allinol, and this particular flaw will lead to its demise. Professor Zundapp has invested much of the proceeds from our oil operation into investigating Allinol, gathering samples, analyzing them and coming up with a simple but startling conclusion: it's more trouble-prone than the world believes we are, and there is a way to exploit it."
"I am entrusting the sabotage of the race to the Professor and several of his personally-selected assistants. He will contact those he has chosen for this task, and the rest of you will have to maintain the same patience you have displayed the last several years, for we cannot reveal the exact method of the sabotage at this time. However, you may rest assured that when all is said and done, we will emerge as the true victors at the end of the race."
Acer looked uncomfortably down at his side door, thinking of the machine gun mounted just under his frame.
"We're just gonna kill 'em? That's the plan, to kill the racers for using Allinol?" he blurted out, and the Mystery Engine's frame turned sharply towards him, the fender covers fluttering with the sudden movement. He seemed to regard the Pacer as though he were an ignorant child.
"That's a rather rash assumption, and I'm relieved to inform you it's entirely untrue. No, we are not going to 'just kill' anybody and the beauty of this plan is that it can be accomplished without the shedding of innocent oil. By sheer necessity some may be hurt, others may have their reputations ruined, and sacrifices will be made all around, but nobody need die. I would not have it any other way, unless..." His voice turned icy. "...Unless the undercover agents attempt to interfere."
Undercover agents? Zundapp's fear of spies actually had merit? Grem could scarcely believe what he was hearing, for up until that moment he had thought the threat of undercover agents to be a mere element of the Professor's extreme paranoia. He paid little attention as the Mystery Engine signed off, leaving Professor Zundapp to recount the previous times his work had been interrupted by agents, and soon the Gremlin found himself wishing the spies really were only a figment of his boss's imagination.
"Well, that was a disappointment," Melvin grumbled under his breath as they filed out of the meeting moments later. "Just when it seemed like all would be revealed, he instead gave us some vague promise of getting revenge, no specifics." He stamped a tire angrily on the deck. "You've probably heard the old saying, but Zundapp shoulda called us the Mushrooms, not Lemons..."
"...Because he keeps us in the dark and feeds us crap all the time," Grem finished for him, his mouth twisting into a frustrated smile at the mental image. "I was hoping at least us lieutenants would be let in on it. I ain't too fond of taking orders from a guy whose grille I haven't even seen."
"You think that Mystery Engine is a PR guy, public relations? That crossed my mind. It's not hard to imagine him working in that field and he's obviously got a knack for speech making." Melvin was clearly obsessed with sleuthing the secretive boss to whom they'd just been introduced.
"I think you're onto something, Mel. As for his model, all I can tell is he's boxy like a Trunkov, but far bigger. The guy could probably take out Petrov and not run up his RPMs." The Gremlin watched as Petrov and Fred, eager to return to fighting practice on the deck, helped fit a small group of AMCs with welding torches. In recent months, Zundapp had not only ramped up the frequency of sparring practice but had instructed his men to defend themselves using their work equipment, casting further doubt on his sanity in Grem's mind. Still, the thrill of incinerating imaginary targets at least broke up the monotony of the work day.
"He's not the only mystery we have to worry about. Just look at them," Melvin advised, staring at the cars who were now charging old wooden shipping crates with their welding torches ablaze. "Does this look like typical training you'd receive on an oil rig? Hasn't Zundapp had you out on Trihull's deck just about every day, getting in some target practice with dummy missiles? Didn't he promise just before the meeting ended that you'd be fitted with your own missile launcher tonight, however on Earth that's going to work out? Don't you think he and that Mystery Engine are planning a heckuva lot more than they've let on?"
Grem swallowed hard, that old fear that he and the others were being swept up in something dangerous returning. "The Engine said we can do this without taking anyone out. You heard him. We just have to be ready in case someone tries to stop us, like one of those so-called spies. You ever play spies as a kid?" With grim amusement, the dark orange Gremlin admitted he had.
"Sure, who hasn't? But this ain't no game and you sound like you're trying hard to make yourself believe nobody will get hurt, Grem," the other AMC replied, coughing on the smell of the burning crates and acetylene. He looked worriedly at his fellow lieutenant. "You'd better hope you're right."