Bunsen Honeydew finished plugging in all the power cords and fibreoptic feeds, and dusted off his hands, turning to his assistant with a satisfied nod. "There! All hooked up. Are you ready, Beaker?"
Beaker looked at the remote unit, twiddling the knobs on it like an Etch-a-sketch. "Beaker, are you ready?" Sighing, Beaker gestured at the remote unit, then at the mini satellite dish Bunsen had rigged up to a sunvisor.
"Mee mee mee meep, mee mee meep," he muttered. He was less than thrilled about this entire venture.
"Now, don't forget, don't let the equipment get wet, or it could short out and we'll lose the signal," Bunsen cautioned him. Ignoring the feeble protests of his assistant, he fit the visor on top of Beaker's carrotey head, adjusting the strap so it fit tightly and didn't slide down over Beaker's eyeballs. Immediately Beaker staggered under the weight of the satellite dish. "Beaker, hold your head up straight! Good posture is often a key element of good lab work too, you know." Bunsen turned on everything, checking to see if his readouts on the mainframe were picking up the satellite feed properly. "Well, everything looks good. Time to head out." Sighing, Beaker trudged toward the door to the lab, then paused when he realized Honeydew wasn't following.
"Mee meep?" he asked hesitantly, pointing at his boss.
"Oh, no, I'm not coming."
"Mee meep!"
"Honestly, Beakie! One of us has to stay here and perform the tiresome drudgework of monitoring the signal, triangulating it, and measuring it!" Honeydew waved him off. "I do envy you! You'll be the first to test this amazing invention. Just think of it, Beaker! You are the first to ever take the Muppet Labs PsychoKinetic Field Tracking Sensor out into the real world for a total field test! Oh, how I envy you!"
"Mee mee mee meep," Beaker suggested, trying to hand the remote tracking screen to Bunsen, but the scientist pushed him out the door.
"Go on! Good luck! And find that psychokinetic field!"
The door shut with a bang. Beaker jumped at the sound, looked around at the empty hallway below the dark theatre, sighed, and started walking. He held up the remote tracker, a device Bunsen had built from former iPod parts with a big red carbon drawing screen in the center. Small circles appeared on the screen.
"Are you receiving me, Beaker?" Bunsen's voice sounded tinned over the com system. Beaker nodded, realized Bunsen wouldn't see it, and responded quietly with another meep. "Good! Hm…I see we have numerous readings all over the theatre. It appears the strongest one is out on the loading dock, but the most recent seems to be from the stage. Head upstairs, Beakie."
Obediently Beaker trudged up to the stage floor, peering around nervously. Even though he knew the suspected Brown Ghost had turned out to be that girl who seemed to like the Newsman, he still didn't like the dark theatre with no one else around. Not one bit. Tiptoeing out onto the stage, looking up at the single light high in the fly system which provided the only dim illumination, Beaker jumped a foot when Bunsen's voice crackled over the com again. "There seems to be…some sort of interference from the field…" A shriek of static made Beaker yelp and jump again. "Ah, there! I've adjusted the com system for the psychokinetic field interference. Can you hear me any better now?"
"Meep," Beaker groaned, his ears still ringing.
"Oh, excellent. Hmm…Beaker, adjust your sensor up a touch. We need to filter out the older readings." Beaker twisted one of the knobs, and saw several of the circles on his screen vanish. "Now scan for the most recent one." Beaker held up the remote sensor and slowly turned in a semicircle, watching the screen. A new blip appeared on it.
"How very strange! That one seems farther away…but it's definitely the same energy pattern!" Bunsen commented. Beaker rechecked his sensor screen and then meeped agreement. Oh, good. That was too far away. He started to head back downstairs. Bunsen corrected him. "Beaker, where are you going? Go see what that reading is!"
"Meep mee mee?" Beaker asked anxiously.
"Yes! Your sensor indicates that reading is current! Something is causing it right now! We must go and see what the source of it is!"
"Me mee meep mee mee mee!" Beaker rapidly swiveled his head no way.
"Outside, Beakie! Track it down! Just be careful…with the equipment!"
Sighing, Beaker reluctantly unlocked the back door and ventured out into the dark streets.
"So, if you didn't come for the snooker, why are you here?" Lewis asked.
The Newsman moved a little farther away from the door to the bar; the chaos within still sounded dangerous. "I'm supposed to be meeting…a friend," he replied.
"You have friends who play snooker?"
"Not that I know of."
The door to the bar flew open; the spiked pig bouncer and one of the patrons came tumbling out, both too busy punching the daylights out of one another to notice the two rats who scurried out in their wake, both carrying huge rounds of cheese over their heads.
"I didn't know you were a pool player," Rizzo said to the more muscular rat hefting a larger round of cheddar down the sidewalk.
"Ah, nuh. I just come here for the food. It's easier to get on pool nights," Bubba explained, and Rizzo laughed.
"Yeah, I see whatcha mean!" Avoiding another beefy customer who came flying out to crash on the sidewalk, the two rodents carried their haul around the corner.
Back in the bar, the King Prawn laid on the bartop, making gushy eyes at the Brunhilda of a bartender. "So, even though I am a prawn of the world, you know, I have never met a lady with such a fabulous right hook," he praised her. She ignored him, decking yet another pool player who reeled too close to the taps.
Outside, the Newsman stood well away from the carnage, glad he wasn't inside. Kazagger stood next to him, flinching as a brawny pig sailed out the door and landed right on top of the brawlers, sending them sprawling. "Ooh," Lewis commented. "Right in the pork chops!"
The Newsman shook his head. "Uh…sorry about your broadcast," he offered.
Kazagger shrugged. "Eh, it was only public access TV anyway." He clapped his fellow journalist on the shoulder. "So! I guess you're not worried about the Arabian Mafia, since you're out in public?"
"What? What Arabian Mafia?"
"I read that piece about you in the Daily Scandal," Kazagger said. "How you stole that harem princess who was in the country illegally, trying to escape the clutches of the Dread Sheik, and hid her for two weeks in your sordid little love nest in the No-Tell Motel?"
"What?" the Newsman spluttered. "Lewis! Nothing that rag prints is ever true!"
"But the byline was a reputable journalist…George P. Will!"
"You mean Fleet Scribbler," Newsie replied angrily.
"Ohhh," Kazagger mused, nodding slowly. "You know, I thought Will didn't usually write for that paper…" As the Newsman disgustedly shook his head, Kazagger pointed out, "But there was one heck of a photo with the story! It really looked like you, Newsie; and I haven't seen a liplock that outrageous since Guy Smiley –"
"And the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, yeah, I've heard," Newsie fumed. "Lewis, you should know better! The Scandal once ran a story about you and a traveling troupe of penguin acrobats, remember?"
"Ah, er," Kazagger suddenly seemed speechless. "Ah, ha ha…yeah, that was some ridiculous piece, huh?"
"Newsie?"
They both turned. Gina approached, dressed in a crepe skirt of coppery fabric which seemed to float around her legs and a very low-cut dark orange blouse with long loose sleeves. Amber earrings and a necklace of the same fossils contributed to the fiery look. She smiled at them both. "Hi! Rehearsal let out early. Who's your friend?"
Kazagger's mouth had dropped, his long nose wobbling in astonishment. Newsie realized his own jaw was hanging open and shut it quickly. Kazagger recovered and stuck out his hand. "Lewis Kazagger, sportscaster. You must be Newsie's new flame!"
"Lewis, this is Gina Broucek," Newsie said, stepping up. Gina shook Lewis's hand and then bent to kiss Newsie. Although it was only a brief kiss this time, Kazagger's eyes widened.
"Well, what a pleasure! And let me just say, I have never had the honor of meeting such an astoundingly tall and fiery young lady!" Kazagger grinned. "I take it you're the one my esteemed colleague was awaiting in there!" He nodded back at the bar. The three patrons and the pig bouncer who'd been ejected earlier were now involved in a four-way brawl; the sounds of grunting and things hitting other things fairly hard filled the otherwise quiet street.
"In there? Newsie, you were in the bar? Why?" Gina asked, shocked.
Confused, he looked back at the place, then at her. "I thought…I thought you said Cutter's?"
Gina shook her head, amazed. "Oh heck no! That place is a dive!" She pointed at a small door right next to the bar's windows. "Cutter's Steakhouse is two floors up. Come on, I'm starving!" She took his hand, and led the bewildered Newsman through the elegant little door and up a long flight of stairs.
"Me too!" Kazagger blurted out, making Newsie look back, startled. "So tell me, Miss Broucek, what do you do? Weight training? Basketball? No, no, don't tell me, I've got it – track!"
Gina laughed. Newsie scowled back at Lewis. Why was he coming along? "No, Mr Kazagger. I'm a theatre techie. I do lots of weight-lifting and running around all day at my job; I don't need to waste any time at a gym," Gina said. They reached the lobby of a quiet, restrained restaurant. "Do you have a table for Broucek?" Gina asked the maitre-d', who checked his reservation book and then nodded, leading them back through a curtained doorway.
"What a fantastic place! Very nice choice," Kazagger commented loudly, drawing looks from the few other patrons around the candlelit room.
Newsie scowled deeply at the enthusiastic sportscaster, but Kazagger seemed oblivious, still nodding around at the soft décor and settling himself in the third chair which another waiter swiftly placed at the small table. "Um, I'm glad you approve," Gina said, shooting a smile at the Newsman. He gave her a look which said Are you seriously letting him get away with this? She bit back a bigger smile, and reached over to put her hand over his, giving his fingers a squeeze. Then she noticed the bandage on his other hand. "Newsie? Your hand…how bad is it?"
Rats – he'd intended to remove the makeshift dressing before dinner and hope she wouldn't notice the injury. Embarrassed, he muttered, "It's nothing. Just a little sore."
Her expression swiftly turned to one of concern. "Newsie…please don't tell me you're all right when you're not. I hate seeing you hurt, but I need you to be honest." Ashamed, he stared at the tablecloth. He felt her fingers under his chin, lifting his head; she gazed worriedly into his eyes. "Please?" she murmured. He nodded, and she gave him a soft kiss on the lips. His eyes closed, savoring it. After a moment she pulled back, looking puzzled at him. "Um…Newsie? Why do you taste like cranberry beer?"
"Er…"
"Wow! Just look at that steak selection! I haven't seen a range like that since Puck 'Putter' Scrimshaw's Olympic Shot-put record!" Kazagger exclaimed, looking over the menu. Newsie brought on the deep scowl again, but again, Lewis paid no heed.
Newsie thought he heard a stifled giggle out of Gina. "So…Mr Kazagger. I take it you and Newsie have worked together?"
"Oh, sure. We were co-casters for the Battle of the Muppet All-Stars a little while back," Lewis said. "And you can just call me Lewis. I don't insist on formality among friends!"
"Okay, uh, Lewis." Gina glanced over at Newsie, who scooted his chair closer to Gina. "A-hem. So…anyone else want a glass of wine?"
Newsie was about to speak when Lewis butted in again. Loudly. "You know, it all looks so good I don't know where to begin! Why don't we try the Chateau LeBleat '96? Then we could rate it against the Pinowt Gregor and the Table Red Sonja, and declare definitively which comes out on top as the best of the moderately priced Eastern European reds!"
The Newsman glared at his colleague, slowly coming to a boil. He jumped when he felt a touch on his thigh, and looked over at Gina. She smiled at him, lightly miming a kiss at him, and gave his leg a squeeze under the table. Only slightly mollified, Newsie fell to studying his own menu, grumbling about big noses where they shouldn't be under his breath.
The city seemed especially unfriendly in this section to Beaker. Going cautiously along, he jumped at every stray cat which ran from his approach, shuddered at every cold caress of the wind on the back of his tall neck, and squeaked in terror at every shadow which suddenly loomed around a corner. "It appears our quarry is just a few streets over," Bunsen's voice came over the com. "You're still transmitting loud and clear, Beakie! Oh, this is so exciting! I can't wait to see what conjunction of incompatible forces is causing that energy field!"
"Meep mee meep," Beaker muttered to himself unhappily, peering reluctantly around the next corner. Nothing in sight; he blew out a worried breath, and checked the remote sensor screen. He oriented the sensor toward the signal, and took several steps unmolested when he suddenly heard a psst. Whirling, he stared wildly down an alley in between two tall brick buildings.
"Hey, you," hissed a low voice. Beaker looked around but couldn't see anyone. "Yeah, you! You with the dish thing on your head!"
"Meep?" Beaker asked, worriedly touching the satellite linkup hat.
"Yeah, you." A large figure emerged from the alley, which seemed too small a crack between the buildings to have concealed the person. Beaker had a glimpse of beady eyes under a broad-brimmed hat. "Wanna have a good time?"
"Meep, meep," Beaker said quickly, shaking his head and his hands in the negative.
"Aw, c'mon. Bertie just loves cute little carrot-tops like you," the stranger said silkily.
"Meep mertie?" Beaker peered along the black alley; something else came out of it. Something small, and wooly, and staring up at him blankly while it chewed its cud. A sheep? Beaker relaxed, looking over the fluffy little herbivore in relief and bewilderment.
"That's right, this here's Bertie. She's my best buddy." The stranger leaned closer to Beaker, revealing blue fur and pointy ears sticking out from under the hat. "She'll give you a real good time, 'cause she likes doing favors for her buddy, ya know?"
"Meep…mee mee meep?" Beaker asked, looking from the shady blue monster to the unthreatening little sheep, which had lost interest in Beaker and was grazing on some grayish grass sticking out of a crack in the sidewalk.
"And all it'll cost ya," said the skinny monster, "is that heavy-looking satellite dish on your head."
"Meep!" Beaker cried, instinctively grabbing the dish-visor with one hand while clutching the remote sensor tightly in his other.
"Come on, whaddaya say?"
"Meep meep," Beaker said, taking a step back.
"Eh, I didn't think so," the monster sighed. He produced a hand-bell from his coat. As Beaker looked at it, confused, the monster pointed at Beaker. "Hey, Bertie! Sic 'em!" Then he rang the bell.
The sheep, suddenly galvanized into action, bleated furiously and launched itself at Beaker's face. It missed by inches as the lab assistant, shrieking incoherently, took off down the street.
Dinner proved frustrating. Although he had to admit the steaks were perfect, and the Caesar salad elegantly prepared tableside with fresh ingredients, the Newsman continued to be irked by Kazagger's nonstop chatter. "So, the Daily Scandal trash aside, are you two really dating?" Lewis asked.
Newsie glanced at Gina; she smiled and gave him a small nod. "Yes, we are on a date," he said pointedly.
"Well that's just fabulous! I never would've figured someone so amazingly beautiful would go out with my pal Newsie!" Kazagger said, nodding happily at Gina.
"Why not?" Gina asked, her gaze fixed on Newsie's, still smiling at him. "He's pretty amazing himself, you know." Newsie felt heat in his cheeks, pleased despite Kazagger's irritating intrusions.
"Well, it's true he does have an astounding capability for withstanding sheer physical punishment," Lewis said. "Why, I remember, back in '76…"
"Lewis, I'm sorry to interrupt, but could you give us a minute?" Gina asked, seeing Newsie's scowl crumpling his brow over his glasses.
Lewis shrugged. "Uh, sure. I do need to use the little sportscaster's room! 'Scuse me!" He trotted off, his nose leading the way around the various tables.
"Please, please don't judge me by my colleague's behavior," Newsie muttered.
Gina took both his hands in hers gently, barely touching the bandage on his left one. "Never." She leaned in to kiss him, and he felt a little of his frustration dissolving. "I have a present for you."
"A present?" He looked up at her curiously. Gina pulled a small item out of her purse, and carefully looped it around Newsie's left wrist. "What is it?"
"This is something I learned from my Grandmama Angie," Gina said. "Remember I needed some of your hair? Well, this is what I did with it."
He peered closely at the entwined strings as she knotted their ends together. "A bracelet?" He'd never worn jewelry of any kind, much less had someone give him any.
"A protection charm," she explained. "Dark blue and green threads, your favorite colors. Plus some of your hair…plus some of mine." He looked up at her, surprised, then back at the woven strings. Yes…he could see tiny strands of his own auburn hair twined in with longer, softer-looking ones, obviously hers. "For every knot in this, I said a prayer for your safety. Seven knots. Wear it until it disintegrates. Never take it off."
"Uh…thank you," Newsie said, unsure what to think of it. He didn't believe in spells or charms, but on the other hand, he liked the idea of wearing a bit of her hair on his wrist, wound up with his own. "It matches my new jacket," he noted, pleased at the harmony of the colors.
"Yes it does," Gina grinned. "I like that, by the way. It brings out your eyes."
"Thank you," he said, and she rewarded him with another kiss. He was aware of others' eyes on them, but her tongue was so delicious he eventually gave in, happy when she stroked his cheek with one gentle hand.
"Wow, you should see the fixtures in there!" Kazagger blurted out, and the pair drew apart, Newsie glaring daggers at Lewis. "And I haven't seen a floor that shiny since the Zamboni Polishing Relays at the Hockey Stadium Janitorial Crew Games back in '02!" Hopping back into his seat, Lewis looked at them both eagerly. "Did you guys order dessert already? I'd really love to try their Raspberry Bombé!"
Panting, Beaker finally paused in the shelter of a closed store's entry, peering behind him. No sign of the trained attack sheep or its nefarious master. He finally heard Bunsen's irritated voice over his own panicked breathing. "Beaker! Beaker, what are you doing?"
Getting his breath back, Beaker touched the COM ON button. "Mee meep," he huffed.
"You've overshot the signal! It's back in the other direction now! Honestly, don't you know how to read the PsychoKinetic Field Tracking Sensor readout screen?" With a heavy sigh, Bunsen adopted a calmer tone. "Turn to your left, all right, Beakie? It looks as though the source of the energy is about fifty feet that way."
Moving slowly and with many fearful glances all around, Beaker advanced toward the signal. It looked larger on his screen now; he was certainly getting close to it. He began trembling. Would it prove to be a big scary thing as well? He walked past three dazed, tough-looking men laying on the sidewalk, all sporting black eyes or other bruising. Fortunately they all seemed too out of it to pay much attention to him. Skittishly he made a wide circuit around the open door to some kind of bar; loud music and harsh laughter emanated from it. As he passed, a broken television camera came flying out, crumpling into pieces on the sidewalk. Beaker squealed and dodged, then hurried on as a man in a khaki vest with pockets all over tumbled out the door and flopped to an unconscious halt next to the wrecked camera. "Slow down, slow down!" Bunsen instructed. "You're right on top of it!"
Beaker looked back at the body dump on the sidewalk anxiously. "Mee meep?"
"Triangulate the signal! Get readings from several spots around you. I'll watch the readout from here," Bunsen told him.
Keeping one eye peeled on the people sprawled in front of the bar entrance, Beaker pointed the sensor all around from where he stood, then scurried to another spot a few feet away, tried it again, then crossed the street and repeated the procedure. "That's wonderful! I've got it!" Bunsen said excitedly. "Beaker, the signal is coming from something right in front of you, and about twenty feet up!"
Slowly Beaker looked up at the building housing the bar. Two floors above the rowdy establishment, he saw lit windows with shades drawn. A discreet sign hanging above the level announced Cutter's Steakhouse, Fine Dining. "Mee mee meep?"
"No, I very much doubt a steak would give off that much psychokinetic energy. But you should go in and investigate!"
"Meep meep," Beaker protested.
"Oh, don't be silly! I'm sure it's perfectly safe! It's just a building, Beakie! How could a building possibly hurt you?" Bunsen scolded him over the com. Sighing deeply, tremulous and wary, Beaker walked up to the door which must lead to the upper floors. Just as he reached for the door-handle, he heard a crunching, rumbling sound above him. He looked up and screamed, but had no time to run before an enormous chunk of masonry fell off the roof of the building and flattened him.
"Beaker?...Beaker…your signal's breaking up…can you hear me? Beaker, get up there and find that field source! And don't forget to keep the equipment away from anything wet!" Static cut through the transmission before the crushed satellite dish fizzled out. Beaker groaned, slowly examining the concrete chunk of roof crenellation pinning his midsection to the sidewalk. He tried to shove it. It budged an inch. Grunting, meeping, straining, Beaker used all his arm strength to move the weight off him, slow centimeter by centimeter.
He was almost free when it started to rain. Beaker looked wildly back and forth at the heavy, wet drops plopping down around him. One hit his nose.
He didn't actually start screaming until the satellite dish startled to crackle and spark.
"Well, I hope you know what you're getting into," Kazagger said to Gina as they waited for the server to bring the bill. Gina started to take out her purse, but the Newsman gestured for her to put it away, digging out his wallet; he still had some of the painfully-acquired cash, and was determined to be a gentleman…at least for Gina.
He shot another glare at Kazagger as the bill was placed on their table, fingering his wallet in sight of the sportscaster. "A-hem."
"Geshundteit," Lewis said amiably. "He's jinxed, you know," he told Gina.
"Jinxed?" she asked, looking curious. Newsie felt her hand touching his thigh again, and coughed to cover his surprise. He didn't feel unlucky tonight, for once.
"Oh, sure," Lewis answered, nodding so hard his nose bounced. "This guy can't go an hour without something terrible happening to him! Why, when we were co-casters, I swear it rubbed off on me! There was this one day –"
"Separate checks, please?" Newsie asked the waiter, indicating Kazagger. The waiter frowned, but left to recalculate the tab.
Gina stroked his leg under the table, smiling prettily at Lewis. "I think you're exaggerating," she said. Newsie had a hard time concentrating on the discussion, acutely feeling her fingers walking up his thigh. They'd all had several glasses of a dry red wine with dinner, and now he was feeling a little dazed.
"No, seriously, this guy's had more train wrecks than Spamtrak in the '80s!" Kazagger insisted. "I'd never seen a shark at a swim meet before I got teamed up with him!"
"Just because he's had some bad things happen to him, that doesn't mean he's jinxed," Gina told Lewis. "You're not going to scare me off."
"Oh, wouldn't dream of it, you faithful firebrand of fulminous fantasy for that flummoxed fashion failure!" Lewis laughed. Clearly he'd had a glass or two more than either of them. "But you really should be careful in his compan-oww," he choked as Newsie kicked his shin hard under the table. "Er. Ahem." He stood suddenly, took Gina's hand, and kissed the back of it before she could react. "Absolutely delightful meeting you, Miss Broucek. I wish you and Newsie all the happiness a gorgeous lady and an unlucky reporter could possibly experience! Thank you so much for an enchanting evening! See ya 'round, Newsie!" He hurried off before the waiter returned.
Astounded, Newsie stared after him. "That – Lewis – that –"
Gina broke into outright laughter. "Oh, man! Oh, my gosh. What a character!"
"What a deadbeat," Newsie muttered, grudgingly emptying his wallet and handing the full amount of the meal's cost to the waiter, who bowed and hastened off. Newsie looked worriedly at Gina. "You don't…you don't think…"
"That you're a jinx? No." She smiled merrily at him, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. He felt her hand return to his thigh, and gulped. "I think you're wonderful." She leaned close. "And if you'll let me…I'll show you just how wonderful."
He gulped again nervously, but acceded to her kiss, wondering just what would come next. As their lips met, a horrible shriek came from somewhere past the lobby. They sat up, staring in the direction of the sound. "Was that your friend?" Gina asked.
A well-dressed couple hurried into the room, although Newsie could've sworn he'd seen them leaving just a moment before, their meal already concluded. "Oh, it's awful! Oh, it's terrible!" the woman in pearls was sobbing. Her husband held her as she cried into a napkin, distraught. A waiter rushed past, crying "Call 911! Call 911!"
The Newsman's news instincts took over; he hurried from the room, following the growing agitation of the staff to the front stairs. There, only a few steps down from the restaurant lobby, Lewis Kazagger lay gasping in pain, three sharp-tipped umbrellas sticking out of his chest. Horrified, Newsie dropped to a crouch beside his sometime colleague, but Lewis stared at him wideyed, jerking away when Newsie tried to touch him. "Stay…away…!" he breathed.
"What happened?" the Newsman heard Gina asking the staff.
"I…I don't know! That couple, going out, knocked into the umbrella stand –"
"They just went flying! Like javelins!" someone else said, sounding amazed.
"It's a freak accident!"
Newsie stared down at Lewis, shocked. An odd whistling sound behind him made him instinctively duck aside. The last umbrella, which had been teetering on the top step when he hurried past, slid down the stairs and embedded itself with a soft thock in Kazagger's nose. Lewis didn't cry out, but he stared up at Newsie with tears forming in his eyes.
"Lewis!" Newsie said, at a loss as to whether pulling out the umbrellas would hurt or help.
Kazagger whispered, "Your…fault…" and fell unconscious.
Stunned, the Newsman looked up the stairs at the small crowd huddled there, staring down, Gina in front. Helplessly, Newsie shook his head. I didn't mean…I'd never want anyone hurt…how can this be my fault? he thought, unable to speak. Gina met his bewildered stare. They heard sirens in the distance.