CHAPTER 4: The Acquisition


The sudden outpouring of 60's rock 'N' roll music from a clock/radio brought Arthur Trenton out of his sleep with a start. His thoughts scrambled about like ants as he tried to get his bearings. Half-remembered fragments of voices and images danced around in the human's head, slowly ebbing away as the music from the radio persisted, insisting that it was more important than any other memories. Such was the situation on many a morning.
Arthur was a twitchy brown-haired man in his thirties who always seemed to be looking over his shoulder at something behind him. He lived alone in a small house in a quiet suburb of Kansas City where the winters were tolerable and the people were friendly enough, so long as they weren't after him.
Stricken with a perpetual case of paranoia, however, turned out to be a positive trait for his current line of work. Arthur spent his days at a local high school as its computer network administrator. His primary duties consisted of keeping all the kids who fancied themselves as the future hackers and geniuses of the world from ravaging the school's private files, while at the same time making sure they were free to pursue their own interests using the network to perform their academic work and to access the internet. He did this job extremely well, and he enjoyed the simple freedoms the job offered. He had also established a warm rapport with many of the gifted students, and had earned a unique admiration from the ones who tried to challenge his network's security. He was the great challenge to overcome-- the ultimate test of their abilities. Fortunately, their abilities fell far short of anything that Arthur needed to worry about.
Arthur was also an avid cartoon fan. His office proper was far from intimidating to the students compared to those of the rest of the faculty. In fact it was downright welcoming and was in danger of breaking the strict rules of conformity as a place where students actually enjoyed being in while at school. It was littered with numerous cartoon character figures and paraphernalia. A Looney Tunes calendar hung on one of his walls next to several framed pictures of cartoon characters printed off of the art department's color printer. A small community of beanbag plushes sat atop his computer monitor, and a large stuffed coyote stood guard next to the door to keep out the rabble.
In his off hours, when he wasn't doing laundry or vacuuming, Arthur could be found either watching cartoons, discussing cartoons with other fans via the internet, or drinking massive quantities of scotch so see if it made some cartoons more funny. Arthur also dabbled in writing fan stories about various cartoon characters, posting his works to an internet group for review and his own enjoyment.
Beyond these outward activities, however, there was more to Arthur Trenton than most knew, and am ever-present cloud, a haze of disconnected thoughts and images beyond the simple wold around him, followed Arthur wherever he went.

It was on one evening, as Arthur was busy comparing and contrasting the differences between Little John in Disney's Robin Hood and Baloo from Disney's The Jungle Book to an online internet chat group, when his doorbell sounded.
Three men in black suits stood outside his door. They were dressed identically with white shirts and subdued-colored ties. Behind them was a large van parked along the road. One of the men produced a small wallet of identification as he addressed Arthur.
"Arthur Trenton?"
A severe case of paralysis began to set in on Arthur, except for his left hand which began to fumble uselessly in the air, trying to find something to do with itself. "Yes?"
"My name is Phillip Sandal, NSA. Please come with us."
The man's voice was firm, but not hostile. The two others behind him stood silently, and Arthur wondered if they were their for intimidation alone.
Arthur's left hand found the doorframe and grasped it tightly, happy to have found a temporary home for itself. He leaned forward and squinted at the man's displayed identification, but was unable to make it out.
"Ahhhh... who are you?" he asked. "What is this?"
Phillip pocketed his credentials. "We've with a special division of the NSA that caters to unique situations. I been ordered to acquire you and bring you with us."
"This is nuts," Arthur muttered, backing away slightly.
"I assure you, Mr. Trenton. This is quite real. You aren't in any trouble. We only require your presence, and possible assistance. These men are here for your protection."
"My protection?" Arthur repeated. Part of him wanted to laugh at the utter ridiculousness of the situation. The other half wanted to run in fear. He split the difference and did neither, standing in simple disbelief.
"Please come with us and everything will be explained," Phillip repeated.

Arthur's paralysis was slowly replaced by an odd sense of exhilaration as he climbed into the van. Phillip and the other two men followed, locking the doors.
One of the men began to occupy himself by fiddling with a piece of electronic equipment that looked like it had been assembled in the back room of a Radio Shack. He held out a long black wand attached to the device in Arthur's direction and fiddled with a dial. Odd little lights flashed on and off from within the device's innards as the man examined the data it produced. After several seconds he nodded smartly to Phillip.
"Let's go," Phillip called to the van's driver. The van came to life and rolled away down the street.
"Do not be nervous, Mr. Trenton," Phillip said calmly. "As I said, you are not in any trouble. Think of this as... an unexpected vacation. Your presence is currently required elsewhere."
Arthur's voice came out quick and panicked: "By who? For what?"
"We were only given a general description of the person we were to acquire," Phillip continued. "We did some research. You were the closest match. And now..." Phillip cocked his head towards the man holding the electronic device, "...we're pretty sure you are the one we've been looking for."
Arthur simply stared back, suddenly feeling at a disadvantage somehow.
Phillip eyed Arthur closely. His voice took on an knowingly inquisitive tone. "Tell us, Arthur, How are Slappy and Fluffy doing?"
Arthur froze. He began to break out in a cold sweat. That and his stunned silence at Phillip's question was enough of an answer. Phillip turned and nodded to the rest of the men in the van.
"Just relax," he said, turning back to Arthur. "There are some... people who would like to meet you." He emphasized the word "people."