Chapter Twenty
Beetle woke up to the gentle rays of dawn, a cheerful chorus of birdsong, and Omen's wrathful screams. He squeezed his eyes shut a little tighter behind his goggles, willing himself to wake up again and discover, Alice-like, that it had all been a dream.
"--expensive clothes left out all NIGHT in the open and, oh Great Rainbow, he's wearing one of them, WEARING it! "
"Shut up, stupid hairy pony! I Munchy say Booster do what he wants with cloth thing! Why you carry around if not to use, eh?"
"Because a collector would pay thousands of dollars for a genuine archer outfit sewn by the Llothi'en elves, you stupid nag! It's in mint condition--or it WAS before that bipedal idiot decided to start sweating in it!"
A flashback, Beetle thought. Yes, that was it, it could all be a hallucinogenic flashback brought on by a history of drug abuse. The only setback was that he didn't have a history of drug abuse. Damn.
"You take one step closer and I Munchy chew off your face!"
"Bring it on, you flea-bitten--"
Beetle decided he'd better intercede before something unfortunate happened, like him being trampled to death in the impending battle. Stretching his arms, he sat up with an exaggerated yawn. "What seems to be the problem, boys and girls? Or . . . whatever."
"He try to take away Boo-ster's cloth things!"
"It's clothing, clothing, you sorry excuse for a pony!"
"Do not let him take off his clothes, we'll never get them on again," Beetle said hurriedly, pushing a gloved finger under his goggles to squeegee away the condensation gathered on them. (All the Leaguers had long since discovered that Booster Gold was the model of 25th century modesty, meaning he didn't have any.) Rewarded with a view that was merely foggy instead of blurred beyond recognition, he still had to look twice to make sure it was Booster, not Green Arrow, curled up on the mossy ground nearby. As he watched, the blond stretched and rolled over in his sleep with a disgustingly contented sigh.
"He could sleep through an earthquake, volcano, and alien invasion simultaneously, I swear," Beetle said to no one in particular. Booster appeared to have ribbons pulling his hair into little blond puffs, but Ted couldn't be sure with the state his goggles were in. He swiftly considered and rejected the thought of asking the ponies for an explanation; it would almost certainly be more entertaining dragging the knowledge out of a reluctant Booster. Ribbons. Oh, for a camera . . . not that it would work in this place anyway.
"Clothes, huh?" Beetle rummaged through the pile of dew-soaked outfits that Booster had indeed left out all night (although, to be fair, he had at least folded them and left them in a neat stack.)
"Valuable clothes. Expensive clothes," Omen hinted.
"Clean clothing. Dry clothing," Beetle returned cheerfully. Then he paused. "Wait a minute . . . dry clothing? Why is it--?" "The saddlebags are enchanted, naturally," Omen said, as though it should be obvious. "Against rain, sleet, snow, rivers--HEY, put that down!" "No can do, Mr. Ed," Beetle said as he selected garments of a soft, cottony fabric. He abandoned the clearing and Omen's increasingly loud complaints about disrespect, pushing through the trees until he found a mass of scrubby bushes to change behind.
Beetle had chosen the black clothes mainly because they looked comfortable and about the right size, but he couldn't help but grin when he saw he'd picked a ninja outfit. Chuckling, he exchanged his top and tights for leggings, bound securely from the ankle to the knee, and a long-sleeved vest. He wished he had a mirror . . . although even if he had one, his goggles were still fogged up . . .
Beetle raised a hand to take off his mask.
Booster would wake on his own, given enough time, and to demonstrate this he eventually sat up in an intricate and lengthy yawn that displayed his throat, tonsils, and the little hanging-down thingie at the back of his throat. As his arms sunk back to his sides, Booster smacked his lips at the wooly taste of morning, scrubbing a hand across his sleep-bleared eyes. Slowly, a large white pony with purple hair came into focus. It was glaring at him.
Booster stared vaguely at a blue sky interrupted by pine trees as his brain foggily rehashed the events of the previous day. He scratched an itch on his left calf.
"Where's Munchy, then?" he asked finally.
"Out in the woods," Omen said sourly. "Trying to kill something."
"And where's Beetle?" Booster hoped the answer wouldn't have to do with being chased in the woods by Munchy.
"He's been gone about an hour. I hope a mountain lion ate him."
"Well!" Booster sat up straight with indignation. "I don't!" Aware that this was not the snappiest of comebacks, he hurriedly added, "Don't worry, I'll find him!"
"I'm not worried," said Omen, who wasn't.
Booster trotted out of the clearing without reply, stifling another jaw-creaking yawn.
As he picked his way through the brush, Booster noted the lack of cavorting deer, bears, wolves, and bunnies with disappointment; a forest, as he understood it, was a bunch of trees stuck together with animals filling in the gaps. This forest was clearly subpar, with only boring brown birds tittering and hopping in the trees.
Booster stopped suddenly, listening. From his right, behind a scratchy screen of bushes came a steady growl, a low grumble that occasionally rose to a higher, angrier octave. What could it be? A bear? A mountain lion? With a great deal of excitement and a characteristic disregard for personal safety, Booster pushed through the bushes. To his disappointment, it was only Ted.
The Blue Beetle didn't notice his best friend at first, probably because he appeared to be trying to pull his own head off. Booster gaped at his best friend, who had one arm looped over his head and hooked under his goggles while the other hand was stuck halfway under his mask. Reeling, Ted jerked continuously at the blue, bug-eyed mask, twice accidentally poking himself in the eye. The growling sound was now discernable as swearing.
"Uh . . . Beetle?" the blond ventured.
"WHAT!"
Booster took a step back. "Nothing, I just . . . I see you found some clothes. A ninja, huh? Cool."
Ted growled in response, face red with exertion as he tried to drag the mask around sideways.
After a minute of respectful silence, Booster ventured, "Do you need any help?"
Beetle cast a wild glare at him from behind the condensation on his goggles. "Does it look like I need help!"
"The thought crossed my mind." "Very perceptive," Beetle snapped, sinking his fingers into the blue material above the goggles and dragging it down until his eyes were nearly out of sight.
"I don't get it, what's wrong with your mask?"
Blue Beetle pulled his hands away from his face and the material that had been gathered around his fingers snapped back into place. "Let's see, maybe I'm doing this to pass the time . . . or MAYBE I can't get it OFF, hmmm?"
"You're no fun when you're sarcastic. Why not?"
"The strap under the chin only comes off if the electronic circuitry in my gloves releases it."
"Um . . . whyyy?"
"To prevent villains from pulling it off and figuring out my secret identity, okay!"
"Do they want to?"
"Of course they want to! That's what supervillains do! Why do you think we have secret identities in the first place?"
"I don't have one."
"Only because you don't know any better."
"Nyah to you too." Booster tilted his head sideways to examine the strip of blue material, lined with black, under Beetle's chin. Sure enough, there was a small oval of black the size of a thumbprint, textured differently from the rest of the mask. "I still don't see the big deal. Your gloves are right over there, in the pile with the rest of your costume."
"Booster." Beetle picked up a blue glove and waved it under his friend's nose. "You see this glove?"
"Yeees . . ."
"It has circuitry in the fingertips, all right? And you see this mask?"
"Yeees . . . "
"It has circuitry in its strap. So what do these two things have in common?" He gestured from the mask ensnaring his head to the glove in his hand while Booster hesitated.
"Cir . . . circuitry?"
"RIGHT, Booster! Good job, you get a gold star."
"Goldstar?" Booster murmured in confusion, looking around for more superheroes. Beetle ignored him and continued.
"And do you know what makes circuitry work, Booster?"
Booster beamed at being asked such an easy question. "No!"
Beetle stared at him for a minute through his fogged goggles. "That's right, you don't. But in general you know what makes circuits work, don't you?" he persisted.
"Computers?" "A broader definition, please." "I dunno . . . science?" Booster paused as the light of understanding dawned. "Oh . . . ohhh."
"I hate this place," Beetle said with a slight note of bitterness in his voice. "How did you get your suit off? Isn't the top held to the tights with magnetization?"
"I don't wear tights."
Beetle gave him a look which his fogged goggles did nothing to soften. "Gold. Shiny. Skintight. Tights."
"I didn't have any trouble," Booster said, pretending not to hear. "Magnets must work here."
"But they're based on scientific principles too," Beetle objected. "Muscles work on scientific principles! Gravity works on scientific principles! All I've heard since I got here is 'Science doesn't wooork, science doesn't wooork,' but I haven't been floating away, have YOU?"
While Booster tried to decide how to respond to Ted's ravings, Munchy trotted into the clearing with her jaws clamped around a huge fish. She spat it out proudly, announcing, "I Munchy find breakfast!"
Both superheroes turned to regard her. As his stomach growled to remind him he hadn't eaten since the lunch the previous day, Blue Beetle decided that his goggles were a secondary concern compared with his empty stomach.
With similar feelings, Booster enthusiastically praised the pony. "Good JOB, Munchy!" he said as he backed out of the way of the flopping fish.
"I Munchy mighty hunter," the yellow pony boasted, tossing her mane so that it flopped heavily against her neck under the weight of her sodden ribbons.
"You certainly are," Beetle said as he tried to avoid the bulging, accusing eye of the fish. "How do you usually eat fish, Munchy? Fried? Sauteed?"
Her brow furrowed. "With mouth."
"Uh huh, that's what I thought. This fish," Ted said firmly, "is going to be cooked."
As neither Beetle nor Booster knew any woodcraft (or, indeed, had ever been camping aside from one brief and ill-fated official Justice League vacation), starting the fire proved to be difficult. Or perhaps impossible.
"Are you sure this is how the Indians started fires?" Booster asked dubiously, crouching beside Ted. "I mean, sticks . . . sticks don't burst into flame all by themselves."
"You're missing the point," Beetle said as he continued rubbing his palms in opposite directions, causing the stick caught between them to twirl rapidly, its end resting on top of a pile of bark, twigs, and pine needles. "It's all based on friction. Once the friction generates enough heat, it'll catch fire. It's scientific fact."
Booster gave him a long, meaningful look.
"It will work," Ted said.
"Only it doesn't seem to be," Booster ventured, glancing from the stick to the would-be tinder.
"This is the right way," Ted insisted. "I saw it in a movie once. Why don't you make yourself useful, huh? Clean the fish or something."
Booster half-shrugged and wandered away to check on the fish, which Munchy had taken down to the river. Now deceased, it floated sadly in the shallow water, its scales scraping against pebbles with every wave.
"This silly," Munchy complained when she saw Booster. Her hoof was pinning the fish's tail against the riverbed so it wouldn't float away. "No more flopping from fishie, why not just toss on shore?"
"The water keeps it cooler and fresher," Booster explained. "And that makes it taste better."
Beraggled ribbons trailed as Munchy tossed her coral mane. "Hu-mans take too long."
"Ted'll have the fire started soon," Booster said with more optimism than he felt. "So let's clean the fish and get it ready."
Critical green eyes examined the salmon. "It already clean. It in water."
Booster, whose mind had been running along similar lines, just shrugged. "Well, but it might have grit or something on it. Hold it up."
After Munchy dunked her head and came up with the fish's tail clamped between her teeth, the Corporate Crusader took off his elven shoes, rolled up the cuffs of his tight elven pants, and waded into the lapping river. Dead, the fish looked more accusing than ever, but he put it out of his mind while he simultaneously tried to think of a way to get the fish clean and ignore the smell. Finally he settled for scooping up water in his bare hands and letting it run over the fish as it gently swayed from side to side.
"There, now it's clean," he said, wiping his hands off on his pants. "As clean as it's going to get, anyway." A quick glance at the hill above revealed Ted still hunched determinedly over his sticks. "Any time now. Fire."
"I Munchy not want to stand all day with fish in mouth," the pony objected between clenched teeth.
Booster's blue eyes flicked from side to side, looking for inspiration and finding a longish stick. Picking it up, he turned it in his hands slowly as a smile grew on his face. "Hang on a sec, Munchy." He planted himself on a rock beside the river and, picking up a sharp-edged stone, started hacking at the end of the branch. "It's a spit," Booster said proudly, leaning his head back to admire his handiwork. "We just, uh, impale the fish on the sharp end, you see? And then, then as soon as Ted has the fire ready, we'll put the stick above the campfire to cook it!"
The tip of Munchy's tail cast ripples on the water as it flicked from side to side. Still unsure about the very concept of cooking, she asked, "What holds up stick, above fire?"
"Oh, rocks or something," Booster said vaguely. "C'mon, bring it over."
Perhaps out of vengeance for its untimely demise, the fish was not about to cooperate; although pushing its mouth over the sharpened end of the stick proved easy enough, Booster's hands slid ineffectively over its slippery skin when he tried to shove the rest of the fish onto the spit. Finally, after a lot of cursing and tugging, it slid onto the stick so abruptly that Booster almost stabbed himself as the sharp end of the spit came bursting through the scales.
The blond tilted his head to examine their handiwork. The fish hung halfway off the spit, tail hanging despondantly, thanks to the stick erupting out of the right side of the belly instead of going straight through. Still, it was well and truly stuck on the stick and that, Booster told himself, was what mattered.
"Come on, Munchy," he said, "let's see how Ted's doing with that fire."
After Omen got over his initial annoyance that the supposed "breakfast" consisted of something as disgusting and inedible as flesh, the spectacle of Blue Beetle struggling to start a fire cheered the white Clydesdale enormously.
The ongoing struggle had effected Ted in a less positive manner. He muttered to himself. He scrubbed furiously at his goggles. He swore. As Booster and Munchy entered the clearing, he was busy stomping wrathfully on a stick he considered subpar.
Omen nodded cheerfully to the newcomers. Ted stopped kicking the now tiny bits of wood long enough to look at the inexpertly impaled fish that the blonde carried. "What on earth did you do to that fish? You were supposed to clean it!"
"We did," answered Booster, who now smelled uncomfortably fishy himself. "After we washed it off, we made a spit to put over the fire." He looked at Ted expectantly, clearly anticipating praise.
Beetle looked at the fish, which still had its head and tail and, he was sure all of its bones. But he felt too weary to debate the various definitions of cleaning. "Well, the fire isn't ready yet. You'd better stick it back in the water."
"When is fire to be ready?" Munchy asked, eyeing the pile of tinder duboiusly. "This take long time!"
"I only need a few more minutes," Ted said, crouching to add more pine needles.
"He's been saying that for the past hour and a half," Omen said in a loud whisper. Ted pointedly ignored him, rearranging the speckled rocks that circled the makeshift firepit.
"I've been eating leaves, myself," the stallion continued. "Not my fare of choice, but fugitives can't be choosers, ha ha! The raspberries were delicious, actually."
Booster's gaze swung in the direction that Omen gestured, then returned to Blue Beetle. "Maaaybe I'll just go pick some just in case," he said.
Ted's eyes narrowed. "I will start a damn fire."
"Of course you will. Yes. And raspberries will make a wonderful . . . garnish . . . for the salmon." Booster edged out of sight amongst the trees.
Beetle went back to work, growling. After several intense moments when he'd almost convinced himself that he saw smoke, sat back on his heels, wishing his mask would come off and trying to plan his next attempt. Omen, whose high spirits seemed to have an inverse relation to Ted's low ones, was actually conversing with Munchy, in a manner.
"No, actually you can start a fire without lightning if you have the right equipment. Flint and steel, for example."
"So? Why you no have some? You Omen lose in river?"
"Oh no, I still have it," Omen said brightly, flashing a blindingly white smile. "It's in my bags."
Booster returned with a Robin Hood hat full of raspberries just in time to see Ted shrieking and trying to throttle Omen, who was practically on his knees not from the assault, but from laughter. Munchy, unsure who to root for, gave the blond a bewildered shrug.
Eventually Booster managed to pull Ted back and calm him down, with some help from Munchy. (Booster told him that Munchy would sit on him if he didn't behave.)
Meanwhile, Omen had gone for his flint and steel with a clear smirk. "That's what you get for sweating on my merchandise," he told Blue Beetle, but his rancor seemed to have faded now that he'd found the superhero to be a prime source of entertainment.
"Next time you have something useful, SAY something," Beetle admonished, pausing to wipe his goggles once more as he struck the black, glossy flint against the rectangle of steel. Sparks dizzily leapt from with each strike, but most fizzled out in mid-air and the few that landed on the tinder quickly winked out. "I mean, we could've been out of here hours ago if you'd just . . . Ah, there it goes." Beetle cupped his hands protectively around a miniscule prickle of flame that quickly grew to eat along the brittle pine needle it had landed on. "Bring the fish over here, we won't be long now."
Booster hurriedly built unsteady stacks of flattish stones on either side of the firepit and laid the spit across it while the Blue Beetle encouraged the fire with more brittle twigs and dead leaves. Omen watched indifferently, Munchy with a furrowed brow and the air of a kindergartner watching an example of advanced calculus.
Despite the delays, annoyances, and frustration, Ted had a proud smile on his face as he turned to the others. "Now that's what I call a fire," he said, gesturing to the neat blaze in the ring of stones.
It was then that they discovered that river rocks, when heated, explode.