Chapter Eleven: To Tame A Hand II

Author's Notes: Needless to say, school *sigh*

This was initially gonna be part of the last chapter, but I thought it'd be too long, so all I had to do was type it out from what I'd written on paper, but school didn't even let me do that… Dammit, no need for me to explain this stuff.

Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this one as well!

"Oh, no. This is indeed going nowhere." Said the old scientist as he threw another empty can of soda away at the small pile of other empty cans of Pitt Cola.

Counting the cans he had at the pile – considering the one can he decided to drink himself – he'd failed to revive six hands after his experiments, which was, of course, a frustrating result. One which he knew was obviously denying the use of the shocker.

So Stanford sat down on a chair and began to think of something else.

Not only he hadn't achieved any results from his huge pile of experiments, he'd also messed his own study up. One of the corners was littered with seven Pitt Cola cans, the carpet on the floor was mostly wet – and sticky – because of Stanford using the soda on the hands that failed to revive. He also had a gigantic copier in the center of the study, which made the place seem somewhat out of order. The table with the required tools on it was also in a place that seemed like a bad place. Luckily neither the patches nor the plastic bags were soaked in soda, so he could get to use them when it was time. He'd also broken one crystal bowl – as he would have expected – and, wearing his thick boots, he didn't see any point in cleaning them, because they couldn't hurt him in any way.

Plus, now that he'd realized how much pain he had been coping with without knowing, he refused to stand up.

"Ugh. I sure am getting old." He said, his back aching horribly. "I hope Cliff can do better than I can…"and then remembered of the fact that this idea of controlling a hand was initially his clone's.

He felt pretty mad at Clifford for making him waste his time and energy on something so idiotic and far-fetched. Who would think a copied paper hand that almost choked him to death mere days ago could be controllable? He couldn't even revive the hand by the shocker, let alone control it.

He thought that maybe he just had to wait for his clone to arrive from his mission. Maybe he just needed to switch to plan B, maybe…

No. The hand being controlled was feasible. He needed to come up with a way to make his clone's idea work. He knew it was possible, he knew there was a way. He just needed to figure it out. All he needed was some time to find his answer.

His mind then raced off to his own clone. How was his mission going? At that moment he wished he'd thought of some sort of communication during their mission. He could have used a pair of walkie-talkies, and ask him what was up every once in a while. Even though the idea seemed childish to him, but how else would they be able to communicate?

Then he realized that they couldn't communicate that way either, because Clifford wasn't alone, and his sidekick didn't want to know who his "uncle" was talking to.

Then how would he realize if the mission went wrong?

He was anxious again. He'd been trying to keep that certain thought at the back of his mind, because even attempting to imagine what would happen in that case sent shivers down his aching spine. He couldn't believe what huge responsibility was upon his shoulders, let alone fulfill his duty to keep Bill away from their dimension. Who would have known that the same being he once considered his "muse" could turn out to be his – and the world's for that matter – largest enemy? How did his research for weirdness become a threat to the universe? How could his simple aim to find anomalies turn into a struggle to keep his own planet from being destroyed?

The old scientist quickly found himself sweating in fear of what might happen.

"No. This isn't getting me anywhere." Said the old scientist and stood up from behind the table. He needed to take a small break and get his mind off his responsibilities for a few minutes, or else, he'd crack under the anxiety.

He couldn't think about the hands and ways to control them. That would only bring him more confusion. Also, it wasn't worthy of him putting his time on when he didn't have a single clue on how to make it.

So he figured out he might as well put the shocker back at its box and take the box downstairs, where it initially was. He could also take a look at other things in the lab that could keep him busy for a short period of time. Stanford could use some relaxation, maybe some of his old music records could help him relax. He also had a couple of records that belonged to Fiddleford – he was obsessed with The Eagles and Rush at that time. He'd forgotten to take most of his belongings with him when he quit, he only took his Cubic's Cube and Banjo.

The thought of the night his colleague quit their so-thought "huge project" made him feel guilty again. He'd possibly ruined Fiddleford's life for good, so much that whenever he tried to talk or ask questions about him, everyone changed the subject. He wondered how his old friend was really doing, but all he could think of was a mind-erasing maniac who would kidnap people and send them back with a blank memory.

Nothing like the ambitious, nerdy engineer he used to know.

Knowing that he was the reason, he couldn't help the feeling of guilt being relived.

But he brushed the thought aside and remembered that he was going to pack the shocker in its box again. He started with other things he'd also taken out when he was going to find the shocker, though. There were lots of those things. He put the small pieces of the portal inside first, then placed the used Banjo strings upon the pieces of the portal, the smaller things such as his old lucky charm that his Irish friend – not that he had many friends, anyway – had given him in his college. He glanced at the charm and smiled, wondering what he could be up to at the moment. He also regret why he didn't take this charm with him through the portal.

Then he found something; his mind controlling tie.

"Ahh, my first invention." He said and took the tie and looked at the microchips which controlled the person wearing it. A lot of memories were relived in his mind. Assembling those chips and hiding them perfectly, especially on a few ties, was definitely not easy, but he'd had fun doing the work of that device, as well as testing it on Fiddleford – he needed to remember to turn the tie off when he was done, especially if he was going to the bathroom.

He also remembered of the feeling of joy and pride he'd felt when he realized that his handiwork worked properly. Never would he have thought he could control someone just by a simple tie, but he had come to the solution, and it was definitely something to be proud of, whether it was just a simple chip or not. He'd give anything to feel the same pride again – except a hand shake with Bill.

Stanford then decided to put it inside the box, but stopped when he had a sudden thought.

The mind controlling tie had a rather simple mechanism to control a person's mind – at least to Stanford, who had calculated his way through a maze of demons at some dimension he never wanted to go back to. (Author: No need to put any thought on this, dear reader.) So maybe the old scientist could build more of them.

But why? He questioned himself. Why would there be any need for more mind controlling ties?

Maybe he could make a mechanism to control many people at once? He could use them on clones – if he copied any other ones. But imagining himself controlling so many clones of himself at once and them moving under his control made him feel bad about himself. Maybe it was because of him imagining the clones walking like zombies, yelling 'Braaaaiiinnss!' but he was pretty sure it was because of him not wanting to be a puppeteer… like Bill. He wanted to be a leader of a passionate, hardworking team of himselves.

But he might as well be able to control other things by the tie(s). It might come in handy with a few animals or creatures, but he couldn't imagine the Gremloblin with a red and blue tie round his neck, saying hello in Japanese. Inserting the chips into them was another option, though. He could put the chip inside a bird and it would – theorically – obey him.

But it was all theory, and he had to test the idea on something to find out.

If only it worked, he could build a horde of weird creatures, each with one advantage caused by their weirdness, and use the horde against Bill if he ever came to their dimension. Not only animals, he could get anything to be controlled by him that way…

Even disembodied hands.

"Eureka!" Stanford suddenly said in ecstasy when the answer finally hit him. He could place a microchip in a hand and see if it obeyed what he ordered it. Maybe even put a tiny sensor and it just might work.

Stanford opened his journal and began to write his mind down on the aged papers…

"Okay, hand," Stanford said aloud with the black, master tie around his neck, looking at the six fingered hand with a microchip put inside, waiting for an order – unless Stanford had messed something up. "Sit." He ordered, remembering the way their father treated their short-lived dog – who was tragically taken under by a truck. The hand fell to the floor immediately, holding on all its six-fingers. Stanford felt that success was mere seconds away.

"Shake." He said, trying not to grin wide in excitement from what the hand would do. The hand then jumped up immediately. Stanford almost ran out of its way instinctively, but the hand landed right on his tight hand, held it…

And shaked.

"Wow. Fascinating." He said, smiling ear to ear with pride and joy. He was feeling the same as when he invented the mind control tie. He then thought if he should tell the hand to let go, and just as he nearly confirmed it, the hand actually let go.

"That's quite strange." He thought, then tried to order the hand by his mind.

Now, Go to the chair to your right. He thought in his head and waited for a response from the copied hand.

And the hand went to the leg of the chair.

Perfect! Now, climb up the chair. He ordered, but seeing the rough movement of the hand, he added, Gently.

The hand climbed the chair successfully, then stood right on the top, again, waiting for an order.

Stanford was proud of what he'd done, but also confused if this would end well.

Okay, now come over here. He ordered, wanting to put the hand in his pocket when he took the box downstairs.

The hand came to him and Stanford grabbed it and put it in his outer pocket, so it wouldn't get too warm. Don't move. He ordered again and looked for the shocker to put it inside the box.

The small shocker was soon inside the box and he was about to close the box to take to the lab, when he found the lucky charm from his Irish friend on the table.

He then put the lucky charm inside his other pocket and picked up the box to take downstairs.

"Dipper, my boy!" Dipper heard his uncle call out for him again, even though he was following only one or two steps behind.

"I'm right here, Uncle Ford." The twelve year old said, but before he got to finish his sentence, his uncle stopped still and held out his hand. "Hand me a compass, Dipper."

The pre-teen who didn't expect to be asked for anything, except to keep up with his uncle, took his backpack off with slight surprise. "Okay, but why a compass?" He asked while looking inside his backpack for the said object.

"Let me ask you something, Dipper…" The scientist began to ask, while Dipper fixed his attention on his uncle. "…Have you used a compass ever since you came to this town?" Dipper shook his head in response. "No. Why?"

"If you had, you would have noticed that the arrows don't show the right direction at all." He stated. It didn't take long for Dipper to understand his uncle's words, and when he did, he was confused. How on earth could a compass not show the right direction with nothing to mess the magnetism up?

"Now, if you have a compass, hand it to me." Great Uncle Ford said again.

Shocked, Dipper looked through his backpack again. After a few seconds, he found the compass in a side pocket of the backpack. It was an old and rusty one. "Here." He said and gave the object to his uncle, who didn't open it right away. "Can you tell me what direction North is, based by the direction of the sun?" He asked his nephew, who, of course, know how to locate the four directions. Knowing that it was before noon, the sun had to be more tilted to East, which would be where it rose every morning. Therefore, North would be to the left of where east was.

He turned towards where he thought North should be, and pointing at the horizon, he said; "Considering it's before noon, North should be this way." He said, but grew unsure again. "…Right?"

"Correct." Great Uncle Ford said, smiling. "You also know that a compass works with the Earth's magnetic system. If there's a magnet near it, the arrow would tilt to that direction." He explained, and again, it was nothing new to the twelve year old. "I understand, but what's your point?"

"Let me show you what the compass shows." He said and opened the compass. "Which way was north again?"

Dipper showed North with his hand.

"Yes. Now, look here." The old scientist said and presented the compass to his nephew. Dipper looked at it, only to find that the compass was showing a totally different direction.

"No. Way." Dipper said with his eyes round, looking at the arrow. "Would it be the same when you rotate it? Maybe the arrow's just stuck." He thought and his Uncle Ford rotated the compass, and the arrow didn't stray the "wrong" direction it was showing by one degree.

"but… how…"

"That's the important question." Great uncle Ford said and closed the compass, wearing a smile which Dipper couldn't read through. "Back in the day, people used to label this land as 'cursed' or 'evil', or even simply 'weird' because of their compasses not showing the right direction. They thought it must be some sort of evil force in the town, but they couldn't have possibly imagined what the true answer was." He explained.

These words sounded familiar to Dipper. He thought he'd heard them somewhere else, but he couldn't remember where.

But he shifted his attention back to the compass.

"But, there's nothing magnetic near it, is there?" He asked, quite confused.

"No, there isn't. But does it have to be near the compass to attract the arrows to itself?" He asked, "Or a strong, yet relatively far away magnetic object would also do?" He added, raising an eyebrow. This made Dipper think about the problem.

"I guess it would, but…" He said, but ran out of words. "I… I don't know."

"You will in a few minutes." The old scientist said and began walking again, the compass in his hand. "Now come, we're not far from where we're heading to." He said to his nephew.

With over a thousand questions in his mind, Dipper followed after his uncle who'd left him with loads of questions, none answered.

He noticed the old scientist fixing his direction of walking based on the compass every few seconds. Dipper assumed that whatever this "Strong, relatively far away magnetic object" was, they were heading its way. This was quite relieving for him since most of his questions were about the identity of the magnetic object.

But something seemed awfully familiar about the way Great Uncle ford used the compass to correct his direction towards where they were heading. There was someone else who did this, he just didn't quite remember who…

He heard a muffled noise from his backpack. He instantly knew what it was; the walkie-talkie. Mabel was talking.

He reached for where his walkie-talkie was supposed to be and pulled it out. Then he listened to what Mabel was saying, but he didn't quite understand what she was trying to say.

"to… dydop… the gy… think… high-school… aweso… expect… 'ver." Was basically what he heard.

"Did you two take walkie talkies with you?" Great Uncle Ford asked, smiling simply.

"She basically threw me the backpack with my walkie-talkie in it when I was following after you, but yeah." He said, sounding a bit unenthusiastic about it, while his great uncle was.

"It's a nice idea to use these on a mission. I would have tried it with Fiddleford if I could." He said, smiling, then facing front again, while Dipper replied to his sister.

"I'm going through a rough patch, Mabel! We'll talk when I get back." He said to the walkie-talkie – pretty loudly, so he made sure Mabel would hear him clearly. He heard no response afterwards, except for some more noise and Mabel's voice in the background. He couldn't figure out her words, so he tried to get the walkie-talkie to work again by shaking it.

"Oh, man!" He said when he didn't get a result.

"We're there." Dipper heard the old scientist say, and completely forgot about the walkie-talkie. He put it in his backpack.

"We are?" He said, enthusiastically waiting.

Great Uncle Ford looked at the compass, then handed it to Dipper. Dipper noticed how the arrow was spinning wildly.

Even this seemed familiar to him.

"This is what happens when you use a compass on the North pole." He said. "Theoretically." Of course, this wasn't the reason the twelve year old felt like this was familiar.

"It's because the compass is on the tip of the magnetic system in that moment, so it spins between directions it finds in the magnetic field. It also happens here, because we're standing on the magnetic object I told you about earlier." He explained, and his explanation was enough to ring a bell for Dipper.

"I've written about this place in my journal, but I tried to keep it more of a secret by not referring to its identity, but this is where I took the material to build my portal from, with help from Fiddleford." He said, maybe on purpose, to make it clearer for Dipper where they were standing.

"CRASH SITE OMEGA." They both said at the same time, Dipper with his eyes round and wearing a wide grin, and his Uncle with a proud smile.

"Really!? I've spent so many days outside looking for this crash site!" Dipper said, which got the old scientist taken aback.

"You should be glad you didn't locate it. It's nowhere to go to alone." He said, with a shade of seriousness in his voice.

"Of course I wouldn't go alone. I'd take Mabel and Soos with me for sure." He said, then thought, "And Wendy too," He added and slightly blushed.

"that's better, but still not safe enough. Of course all of the aliens have been dead for millions of years…"

"ALIENS?" Dipper shrieked.

"Oh, I forgot. I was about to tell you about the identity of this crash site and how it happened."

"ALIENS!" Dipper shrieked again with excitement, but cleared his throat and tried to seem more professional. "Uh-hmm. I'm all ears." He said.

"Good." Great Uncle Ford said and began to explain the history of the ancient UFO, upon which they were standing…

Author's Notes: Since there might be some of you who haven't read the journal (Deg Degs to a certain reader ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ), Crash Site Omega is how Stanford referred to the UFO in his journals, in order to keep from revealing the existence of the spacecraft. (It's not that big of a spoiler, I swear XD)

I'll start working on the next chapter during the history period tomorrow! :D If you know what I mean.

-H80NP