It Could Be Worse
Episode 18: The Enemy of My Enemy
By Sulia Serafine
[3-3-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.
Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!
E-mail me at silverwLng@aol.com, okay?]
"Jump, no. Jump, down. Stop that. Stop… jumping!" Roald pleaded with the dog. The crooked-tailed dog only barked and darted between his legs and that of Thom's.
"He never stops," Thom smiled, reaching down to scratch Jump's back. He returned his attention to the various files he held in his hands. The four men gathered around the collapsible table, waiting for Keladry to return. Roald was feeling better than before after drinking a concoction the oldest man present made from things in the secret lab. Faleron's ankle was sprained, but he bore the pain quietly and relieved it of most of his weight.
Cleon examined and re-examined his weapons out of boredom. The rifling of the barrel, the chamber, the safety… The sounds of battle overhead were unnerving the usually laid-back redhead. He wanted to go up to the surface and show just whom they were messing with, but it was only a notion. He could never carry that out without getting slaughtered. And the really frustrating part was, he did not know which side would shoot him-- Ozorne's or Tortall's.
Roald had retold the words of the President and his wife to all of them, sparking curiosity and confusion from all sides. Even Thom was taken aback and suddenly questioning all that Roger had ever told him. There were many denials. At first, he reasoned it was a ruse to misguide them from Ozorne. And then, as it sunk in, he couldn't help but doubt his long time benefactor and contact.
"Do you think President Conté is safe?" Roald asked suddenly. Jump had finally laid himself down by Roald's feet at the bottom of the stool and caused no more trouble. The young man's serious expression was present again, as it so ordinarily was, even more so grim.
"Hopefully. I'd like to get some answers from him before he dies," Faleron said quietly. He honestly didn't expect Jonathan Conté to live with Ozorne winning the fight. There was nothing more than to do but cut his losses and make the best of it-- the same way he'd been trying to deal with his conscience ever since Scanra. "Mr. Trebond, how can we help the Immortals? Can't we break into the new labs from here?"
He nodded. "Yes, and get killed by the security system. There are whole networks of tunnels down here. I don't know what they've changed." He threw up his hands in the air. "If we attempted to find an entrance, we could set off a security alarm and automatic weapons will appear out of the walls and fill our bodies with bullets." Thom paused. "We must wait for Miss Mindelan or else go back up to the surface and enter from the bottom of mansion like the other scientists do. But--"
"Hey! Sounds like a plan to me!" Cleon leapt up from his seat. "So what are we waiting for?"
"I was going to say that we most likely will be killed up there," Thom narrowed his eyes. He stroked his beard again, thinking to himself. "We need any weapons that she can bring."
Cleon groaned. "We're helpless. Man, this blows…"
"That's just about the gist of it," Faleron nodded.
The former sighed and folded his arms. They sat in silence for five minutes until he spoke again.
"Well! I say we risk the tunnels to the new lab. What do you say, fellas?"
Faleron stared at him. Then he exchanged glances with Roald, who shrugged and tapped Thom on the shoulder. The redhead retained a cheery smile, which pushed them over the edge. They soundlessly agreed on a simultaneous reply.
"Shut up, Cleon."
~~
Jonathan Conté, the thirty-third president of Mithros, watched calmly as the door opened and another man was shoved into the room, a coarse rope tied about his midsection, binding his arms to his sides. His wife was seated on the floor in handcuffs, remaining as dignified and proud as possible. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Jonathan was proud of her for that.
He sat back on his heels from where he hid behind the two-way mirror. So, he'd managed to evade Ozorne. It was pure luck that Jonathan was near the secret hiding place when the alert was sounded. Unfortunately for his dear wife, she had been too close toward the front of their vast home, and was captured. But now-- who was this new man just arriving with a bunch of Ozorne's goons?
"Gentle, gentle! I'm a very fragile man," George called sarcastically to his captors as he less than gracefully seated himself besides Thayet on the floor.
Jonathan grinned. "Of course. George." He frowned when a stirring thought entered his mind. "When did he get here?"
"Who is in charge here?" George demanded, glaring at the assortment of thugs that were in the room. "Well?"
"I am," a man in his late twenties answered. Vinson stepped forward from behind the lackeys and strode up to the president's advisor. "George P. Swoop. It's a pleasure to meet you. And Madam Thayet Conté-- I'm truly blessed by both of your presences." He allowed himself a full, throaty laugh. "Now, where oh where is our President? Would you care to say?" He glanced from one to the other. "Oh, come on. One of you has to know…"
Jonathan tensed up. The sleazy young man irked the political leader beyond measure. He looked familiar, but he couldn't trace it to anything in his present thoughts. The girl beside him bore no resemblance, however. She was on the shorter side, with long dark hair cascading down her back. She looked very fretful, and cast her glances at the floor in shame.
"Even if we did know where Jonathan was, we would never tell you," Thayet replied coldly. She held her chin high, and her face neutral. George did the same, although his face was not quite so neutral toward Vinson.
Vinson rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed. "Fine. Be like that. We'll start shooting your guards one by one right here in the middle of this room until you confess what you know."
Jonathan gasped. He could not believe the cruelty of this man. He could not let it happen. He watched as a couple of goons dragged forward some already wounded guards to the center of the room. There had to be something he could do to stop this. If he didn't, then those men were going to die.
"I know where he is!" George exclaimed hastily. "Just don't shoot them!"
Thayet turned to look at him incredulously while her husband behind the two-way mirror gaped.
Vinson signaled to his men, who fell back into line. He walked up to George and crouched down to meet his eye level. "Oh really? So, where is he?"
"You have to promise to let these men go."
Their captor thoughtfully glanced at the injured guards. "Okay. So, where is he?"
"In the walls, listening like a ghost. Haven't you ever seen that movie, The People From Under The Stairs?" George answered. He tried to keep from grinning. Finally, he settled for biting his tongue and hoping that Vinson was too insulted to actually think the story to be true.
The president glared at his good friend, wondering what possessed George to actually tell the truth.
"What bullshit!" Vinson roared. "How dare you tell me such a lie!" He lifted his hand. "Bring the men forward!"
"But… but I wasn't lying!" George protested. He'd hoped that Vinson would not believe. And Vinson didn't, but he was also hoping that he would not shoot the men. He groaned and shook his head in regret.
Lalasa finally looked up to see the scene unfold before her. Two men, blood dripping down the sides of their heads and bruises worn on their bodies, were shoved forward. Instinctively, she rushed to Vinson's side. She slipped her hand in his. A smile crossed his face as he turned to see her. "Ah, my dear, is something the matter?"
She stifled the urge to gag and squeezed his hand tighter. "Vinson, darling," she gritted her teeth during the word, "Please, don't shoot these men. They haven't done anything."
Jonathan admired the girl's courage. It was apparent she did not enjoy Vinson's company, and was seeking to quell his anger through her own dignity's sacrifice.
"Lalasa, dear, I have to make an example of them." He sneered at George. "And show what happens when you mess with Vinson Genlith."
She clung to his whole arm now, receiving a delighted little sound from him. "But please, the mess is going to be so… icky," she feigned her disgust. Lalasa silently swore to herself if she was ever forced to play the fragile helpless woman ever again, that she was going to make someone pay for it-- pay dearly. "Perhaps we can just destroy a lot of important things. Like the statue of the 25th president?"
Vinson sighed. "I find that I can't deny you, love." He signaled to his men. "All right. Let them go. Fetch that wretched statue out in the main hall and bring it here. We can lop off its head and have a game of bowling, eh?"
The other men laughed automatically, even if the sentence was not humorous. Lalasa let out a relieved breath. Behind the glass, Jonathan decided there was nothing more he could do there. The best hope he possessed was to use the secret passages between the walls to get to the laboratory underneath the estate and protect the Immortals from Ozorne.
"May I have a kiss, my love?" Vinson leered at her. She paled.
"Uh… not on the first date, no way," she shook her head while forcing herself to giggle like a hysterical idiot.
He raised one eyebrow. "I'll have to kill a guard out of boredom…"
Lalasa could have cried. She hesitantly offered her cheek to him. He wrapped one arm around her waist. Instead of pecking her on the cheek, he forced his lips against hers. Everyone else in the room observed how her face scrunched up on immediate contact, but dared not say a word. They actually felt sorry for her, even Ozorne's men.
"Roald, where are you?" she thought. "Where is anyone?"
~~
Keladry sped along on her very own red bike. She navigated through the crowded streets filled with DJPF and concerned citizens. The estate loomed ahead of her. She parked her bike in the brush and hid it. Now she had to sneak back in through the place that Thom showed her without anyone catching her. All the things she carried slowed her down, but she bore it silently.
Once again, she slipped through the narrow break in the metal fence and crept low to the ground toward the brick structure she and Thom had entered. Gravel made dampened noise as the soles of her feet caused friction between the two. She hated being this loud, but the DJPF were a long way off from the side they were on. They did not even think to go anywhere near the power lines and generators. There was a great chance that they'd never known this place existed.
Just as she reached for the doorknob of the little building, she heard a click. Someone had cocked his gun.
"Slowly lift your hands to where I can see them."
That was definitely not a good sign.
But the voice was oddly familiar. Keladry did as she was commanded. A million thoughts sped through her head. She could not decide what to do in her situation. So, she stood calmly with her hands raised to head level. The officer who had caught her was breathing loudly and anxiously. He was probably a rookie.
"Turn around. Keep your hands where they are."
She started with her foot, turning it three quarters out, then her body following. She kept her eyes focused on the ground, slightly afraid to face her fate though she wore her mask of impassivity. Keladry still couldn't believe that her guess was wrong and a rookie-sounding officer was taking her in.
Ideas flew threw her head on ways to escape, but there was still a gun pointed at her head. When she finally looked up, she was greeted by the astonished face of—
"Owen?"
There was a brief moment of silence for which the two gaped at each other in disbelief. Kel noticed that her friend had changed. He was taller now, coming even closer to her already amazing 5'9 height. The curly brown hair she was so accustomed to seeing was a bit longer, and the curls straightening out. She could not imagine him without his curls. The facial structure was the same, but there were signs of maturing. The gray eyes remained constant to a fault.
Finally, Owen lowered his gun. His hands were trembling. "Kel? Is that you? Really you?"
"What does it look like?" she replied back. She had intended a note of sarcasm, but it came out flat and monotonously because of her still shocked mind. Her sensibility wavered while his was already gone. Owen grinned and moved forward. He hugged her like she had died and risen from the grave.
"It's you! You're okay!" he cried. He started to laugh. Keladry returned the embrace, feeling the same sort of urge to laugh. Owen eventually released her and wiped his moist eyes. "Neal and I thought that the DJPF had gotten you by now. You know, since you returned to Tortall." There was a pause, and his expression became crestfallen. "I refused to believe that you were doing what everyone's been saying. It was tough sometimes, but I've known you longer than the media has."
"I know how hard it is to keep faith in persecuted innocence. Thank you." Keladry allowed herself to sigh though it felt incredibly weak and girlish of her to do so. She cleared her throat. "I suppose you want to know why all of this is happening."
His eyes widened. He looked around them. Beads of sweat had already formed at his hairline. "Yeah, I do. But, is there anyplace where we can hide? If anyone sees you…"
She nodded. She turned around and opened the door. "This way," she whispered. "And bring my bag with you."
In the moment of their reunion, she had dropped her bag full of the weapons intended for her fellow companions and Thom. Now, they crept into the crumbling shack. Keladry opened up the manhole once more. Owen handed the bag to her, which she slung over her shoulder while descending into the dirt packed tunnels below.
"What are we going to do?" Owen asked in a whisper. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see," she whispered back. The lights were dim so she was unable to see him roll his eyes and slump his shoulders as he followed her. Even though, she could sense his doubt. If she were Owen, she too would be skeptical of the situation. It would be a few more minutes before they reached their destination.
~~
Thom admitted them inside his lab. He didn't mind Owen at all and silently understood that he was on their side. The former top scientist of Tortall looked past them into the tunnel. He apprehensively addressed them. Something was wrong, Keladry could tell. "Did you run into the guys?"
"What? Aren't they here?" she asked. The scientist shook his head. While they were talking, Owen wandered around the lab area with an amazed expression on his face. The atrium was a wonder to him. How could plant life as extraordinary as that grow underground. At the same time, he marveled at the type of machines kept to the side. He ran his hands over the smooth surfaces of stainless steal and plastic.
"They got so restless that they wanted to risk the secret network of tunnels into the new laboratory," he replied. He glanced over at the wide-eyed young officer from the corner of his eyes, a proud smile tugging at his lips.
Keladry felt a little pang of anger within her. She was going to have a long talk with Cleon when this was over. It was obvious that he was the leading force in this. He probably let his wild adventurous side get the best of him. Faleron had more sense, and Roald blindly trusted in both of them to do as they did. She closed her eyes and took a few breaths to calm herself. When she opened her eyes, she set herself to a course of action.
"Here. Take this," Keladry handed Thom one of the guns from her bag. "Owen and I will go up top and enter through there. I don't think we could catch up with the guys without getting lost."
"Are you sure you can make it through there?"
She nodded. "Last time, I surfaced pretty close to the mansion. I can get inside now that I have someone watching my back. Owen!"
The younger officer turned around from where he had been playing with Jump. The pooch growled deep in its throat, annoyed that attention was yet again stolen away from him. Owen jogged over to his friend. "Are we going to fight now?" His eyes lit up. "I've been waiting for a good brawl forever!"
"You're going to get more than that," she muttered with a hint of worry. "A whole lot more."
~~
"Okay, so, what's next on the map Thom gave us?" Faleron said while rubbing his temples. Why did he have such a terrible headache? And not to mention, his ankle was in a crude brace made by a few strips of cloth double bounded over the injured spot to keep it stiff and unmoved.
Cleon blinked. "There was a map?"
The other two men groaned in misery.
"Don't tell me we're lost!" Roald exclaimed.
"I give up," Faleron half uttered, and sunk down to the floor of the tunnel on his butt. He held his head in his hands, grumbling to himself about their predicament. Cleon thought for a moment, then continued to rummage around in his vast number of pockets for anything.
With a tiny squeak of triumph, he held up a scratchy, blurry piece of clear plastic that was the blueprints for the tunnels from Thom. The older man had warned them that a lot of things were bound to be different since they closed off the tunnels and divided up the 'university'.
"I got it!"
Roald quickly snatched it out of the redhead's hands, afraid that it would disappear like a magician's tool. "Oh, finally. So, where are we?"
The shortest of them, seated on the ground, held up his hand. Cleon took it and hauled his partner to his feet, careful of Faleron's ankle. Faleron took the map and examined it using one of the dying lights fixed in the tunnel walls. He looked around, scratched his chin, and traced the map with his finger.
"We're coming up to a chamber right now. It used to be some water gate checkpoint, but Thom scratched a lot out right here." He pointed to it, but lowered the map before they could peer at it. "Let's go."
The three young men wandered further down the tunnel, ignoring fake paths that branched off from it. As they walked, the tunnel changed. No longer was it earthen walls with wooden and metal supports. There became fewer dirt and more granite. Roald bent down and ran his palms against the slabs of concrete. "Hmm…" He shrugged at his friends and they continued forward.
Then they arrived at a room, about seven feet by twenty feet across. As they stepped through the iron-framed doorway, they gasped. It was entirely concrete, not eroded by years of moisture from the ground. They had been down there for so long, the three were accustomed to seeing dirt, yet none was found there except that their feet drudged in. Faleron could not understand how that was possible, but he found grooves in the top ceiling that were too tight together to allow water to drip through. He gestured to have the flashlight. Cleon handed it to him without a thought while crouching down to see if there were any footprints to be had.
"What's the purpose of this place?" Roald asked. He moved all the way down to the other end of the chamber, finally seeing the second door. It was something that reminded him of titanium steel, yet he reasoned that it was stupid and probably not. There was no handle, and no number pad for which a person might enter a password for the door to slide open. Was it even mechanically advanced like that?
Cleon agitated by the lack of activity they were having, walked back the way they came and searched for any more clues. He considered backtracking to the other paths that led off the main one, but he could not recall where they led.
"Hey, Fal! Buddy, can I see the map?" he called loudly as he kicked up dirt jogging back toward the chamber. The toe of his right foot caught on something, and the next thing he knew-- he slammed into the ground face first.
A sliding metal door with but one tiny iron barred window sealed off the doorway. Faleron and Roald whirled around from where they stood. They gaped at the new door.
Cleon held his breath in worry as he scrambled to his feet and ran toward the door. He gripped the iron bars hard and tugged. Nothing would budge. He tried sliding the door back either way. Nothing moved. The redhead frantically backed away. His mouth opened and shut, trying to say something. Shock was too strong.
There was an odd silence. And then Faleron gathered his wits.
"What the hell did you do?" he screamed. Both he and Roald ran toward the door separating them from Cleon.
"I didn't do anything! I just tripped on--" Cleon froze. He looked over his shoulder at the ground. The tunnel's lights did not reach it. "Quick! Hand me the flashlight through the bars." Roald took the flashlight from Faleron and squeezed it through the opening in the door. Cleon took it and aimed the beam of light downwards. A little stick, presumably a switch, stuck up partially from the dirt. "Uh…"
"I don't like the sound of that, Kennan."
Suddenly, there was a rumbling sound from overhead.
"And I don't like that sound," he replied with fear creeping up in his voice.
~~
He could picture himself stabbing the man in front of him repeatedly with anything-- anything sharp at all. It didn't have to be that either. He could grasp a blunt object in his hands and smash his object of despising repeatedly over the head. It didn't take much to please him. No, at that point, a huge plastic candy cane lawn ornament left over from Christmas celebrations would be fine. He was not a picky man at the moment, not at all.
"Stone."
Joren looked up at the older, stockier man addressing him. He let out an unnoticeable sigh and moved forward so he stood beside Roger Conté. He eyed the shotgun slung over the other man's shoulder distastefully as he fingered his two Desert Eagles in their holsters at his sides.
"What is it?"
"How much do you know about the Immortals? Don't pretend not to know anything. Thom must have told you plenty."
The blonde narrowed his eyes. He did not answer.
"I said how much do you know?" Roger said through clenched teeth. His younger companion was annoying him, but not so much as his son, Vinson.
"Enough," Joren finally replied. He became satisfied with his response when Roger growled angrily and stalked forward through another hall.
As they went through different wings of the mansion, hunting for Jonathan Conté by searching hidden passages that Roger mysteriously knew about, more questions were brought up. Roger asked, "What do you know about the Immortals then, and our plans of them?"
The other man smirked slightly. "Tasikhe wants to set them free, for they have been mistreated. Numbers of them have been mutilated, mutated, and killed. The government's scientists must be a bunch of idiots."
Roger laughed, lightening up his mood considerably. Joren was definitely better than his son was. It was refreshing to have someone with wit talk back to him. Thom merely listened and Vinson only provoked and received punishment. "Go on."
"Well," Joren started to get sarcastic, although what he said, he believed to be true. "The two of you masterminds say you want to set them free for the sake of the rights of the poor creatures." He paused and rolled his eyes. "But I say you do it to defy your perfect kinsman, Jonathan, while you remain the black sheep. And I say Ozorne does it for power, for now the Immortals are free, but in debt to him, and so under his command. Do the two of you like power trips?"
"Yes, yes we do," Roger answered good-naturedly. To himself he thought, "Is this guy joking, or is that what he thinks? He's probably against us. I never trusted any of them anyway. Another man I can dispose of later, all too easily."
His pager sounded. The older man looked down at his wrist and received the message. Some guards had alerted Vinson in the security monitoring rooms that the supposedly abandoned tunnels to the underground labs had been opened, and the booby traps automatically triggered.
"Jonathan," he hissed. "It has to be him. Who else knows about them?" He nodded his head back towards the elevator. "Let's go. I'm going to have his head, if it's the last bloody thing I do."
~~
Alanna knocked on the metal door, yawning. She was dressed up in battle gear, despite the still healing wound on her thigh given to her from Faleron that time in Carthak. She muttered something to herself while looking down at her shoes. She hoped George wasn't going overboard in his spying venture as a 'hostage'.
"George makes a terrible hostage," she said to herself, grinning. "I can only imagine what he's doing."
~~
He sneezed.
"Gesundheit, George," Thayet offered, although leaning away from him so as not to get sneezed on.
"Thank you, Thayet," he replied, sniffing. He glanced around. "It's quite dusty in here. Hey! You in charge! While you're standing here doing nothing like the lazy oaf you are, have some of your men clean up the mess you've made! All those bullets fired in the plaster walls and ceiling caused so much dust!" He naturally looked as defiant and stubborn as humanly possible-- something his wife always scolded him about, although she couldn't love him as much without it.
Vinson separated from himself from Lalasa-- much to her relief-- and stomped over to him. "What the hell is wrong with you? You are the hostage! I am the hostage-taker!" He threw his hands up in the air. "Do you want to die or something?"
George snorted. "Well, of course not. What kind of idiot are you to ask that question?"
Thayet and Lalasa could hardly hold in their laughter, while Jonathan was already chuckling behind the two-way mirror. The president slowly backed away from the mirror though. He knew it would be useless to stay there the whole entire time. Just as he was about to leave to hide somewhere else, he heard a bit of conversation from one of Ozorne's men to Vinson.
"Tunnels… lab…"
Jonathan frowned. Were they talking about the lab underneath the estate? Had someone besides Ozorne already down there? He couldn't let them anywhere near the Immortals. There was no telling what they would do. That was that. Jonathan started creeping away silently through the secret passages in the wall, heading downwards to the lab. He prayed that he could get there in time and stop Ozorne from getting away with his Immortals.
~~
The door opened hesitantly. Thom stepped back. "Alanna?"
"Hey, bro. What's up?" she casually asked as she leant forward and gave him a quick hug. He hugged back a little too late as she pulled away. He was still in the first stages of shock.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes wide. Alanna looked him over. His cheeks were flushed, and his beard a little messier than she last remembered when they went to his home in Carthak. She reached forward and smoothed his hair back, out of habit for watching out for him.
She smiled. "Why, I'm here to help with the Immortals. We're not letting Ozorne Tasikhe get them." Her expression darkened. "I can't even imagine what he'd do with them." She grabbed her brother's hand, while he held on to the weapon Keladry gave him, and pulled him after her.
~~
Keladry threw shoved away the lid of the manhole from her as she hauled herself up using her arms. She crawled onto the grass behind the shrubbery and held out a helping hand to the shorter man. Owen took it and pulled himself up beside her. He put the iron-plated lid back on and kicked some dirt over it.
"It's quieting down," she commented absently.
There was a small explosion in the distance. Clumps of grass and debris flew through the air, pelting them with granules of dirt. Keladry shook her head, trying to shake it from her hair. Owen spit onto the ground, tasting it on his lips. They crept low to the ground while they approached the side of the mansion with its craters and damaged walls.
"Okay. I was wrong," she muttered. Owen broke into a smile. She peered over the hedges and the piece of stone table that belonged in the garden. There was men running back and forth, although most remained stationed by his or her posts, just resting rather than attacking.
She adjusted the bag over her shoulder. "Watch my back. I'm going to make a break for the servant's entrance. It's unmanned as of now. I'll signal for you to follow when it's clear again."
He nodded. "Just go already."
After taking a deep breath, she dashed forward across the lawn. Keladry's heart was racing as she heard bullets bite into the ground where she had just stepped. Just once, right before she reached the closed sliding door, she looked over her shoulder. The firing had paused from her enemies when Owen fired back at them with his old-fashioned revolver.
She nearly collided with the door when she reached it. She was in the open, an easy target. Anxiety overwhelmed her as she tried random passwords on the number pad. Just when she thought she a grenade overhead, the door opened and she fell in. Lalasa shrieked as she saw Vinson aim at her with his pistol.
"Wait!" Keladry cried as she got up to her feet and braced herself between the doorway and the wall of the servant's entrance. She winced visibly as bullets buried themselves on the steps leading to the door. Vinson and Lalasa moved back, flattening against the wall as well.
She called out the door to Owen, although she didn't know how she'd explain it to Vinson when he would ask. The dastardly man himself was glaring at Keladry with extreme hatred.
"What's going on!" he bellowed, his hand tightening around Lalasa's wrist although it was not she who he was addressing. Keladry opened her mouth to speak, but Owen crashed into her as they barreled through the door. The two of them hit Vinson and all three fell to the floor. Lalasa jumped over them and hit the keypad that closed the door. When it slid into place, sealing them from outside, more rumbling was heard overhead. The whole structure trembled. Bits of ceiling plaster rained on them.
"DJPF!" Vinson growled as he tried to press the barrel of his pistol to Owen's head and squeeze the trigger. Keladry and Owen both wrestled with him, trying to pin him down. He was bigger than both of them were, but together they were able to restrain him.
"Lalasa! Do something!" Keladry ordered as she used most her body weight to keep the cursing man from escaping. She fumbled with her gun as she tried to hold him down at gunpoint like he had done to her. Owen sat on his legs, firm hold on his ankles.
Lalasa tore off part of her duster and stuffed it into Vinson's mouth. She began tearing off random strips and twisted it, making it stronger twine. Together, the three tied him up and hauled him to a utility closet. He struggled and cursed, but his words were muffled and his arms bound to his sides.
"What are you doing here?" Lalasa gasped as they finally shut the door on him. Thumping sounds were heard from the other side of the door. Keladry agitatedly pressed the button for the door to slide open. Before Vinson could shove his way out, she raised her weapon and trained it on him at point blank range.
She reached with her thumb and cocked the gun. The finalizing of her threat was enough for the bound man to stop squirming and hold his position. Keladry used her other hand to press the button again. The door closed, and she turned to face Lalasa.
"Where's your father?" she asked. Owen leaned against the wall to catch his breath.
Lalasa pointed down the hall. "He went to the lab, I think. He's taken the Council members Numair Salmalin and Daine Sarassri." She paused. "So, what's going on with everyone else?"
"Apparently, it's a race to the Immortals."
~~
Author: *sniff* This time, I really, REALLY, tried to get the episode done early. *sniffs even louder* I TRIED SO HARD! I HATE MY ENGLISH TEACHER AND HER ENDLESS PROJECTS! I HATE BLOCK SCHEDULING! I HATE IT ALL! *starts bawling* and to top that off, this episode isn't even that good! I'll have to come back later on and edit this two weeks after its posted! WHY? OH, WHY?
[5 minutes later]
Okay. *takes deep breath* I'm okay now. I had to get that out of my system. I'd like to take a moment to answer a question someone threw at me. You see a lot of authors doing short stories or side stories to their long fics, but not I. Why not? I'd like to steal a concept presented in an HBO Artists' special (shut up, Legato. I can hear you laughing, you know…) I believe, by an actor portraying Monét. When the world has aged centuries hence, let them see your masterpieces, never your rough drafts. Destroy your flawed products, do not leave the public to find them and discover how bad you could be. Leave behind only the good memories, the better things… so that your name may be as legend.
It's a nice concept, right? Perfectionists raised me, so it's natural for me to like this. I'm sure not all of you agree-- that rough drafts need to be kept as a reminder of development, etc. But that's not for me. THIS is for me. Maybe I will have a few side stories in season number two, but not now.
Also: A lot of people have been asking me to crack down on plagiarism offenders because they want to defend me against copycats. (Fancy that. People want to protect my story. *shrug*) I appreciate and care for them all very much, but I don't want to. Seriously, because I do not want to be the bad guy, er, girl here… Isn't there some sort of patrol from ff.net that does that? *sigh* I really, really don't want to do this, but you people know who you are! Please modify your stories in any way possible that does not leave you in the plagiarism category. If you don't know if you are or if you need help doing this, talk to Legato Bluesummers (Pickadilly101@aol.com). I trust you to make the right decision.
ADDED 3-17-01:
Ignore the message above, or feel free to rant to Legato-kun. He's just paranoid, but he tries to be sweet, really he does (even if he's an idiot. Yes, Lego, I hope you read this). But on a more serious note, I've been noticing that out-of-character stories (that are not in the Humor genre, where they are tolerated for the sakes of ridiculous, senseless laughter) are popping up like daisies. I honestly don't think that's a good thing, so I hope people become more conscious of this and correct themselves for the sake of dignity of borrowed characters.
Thank you for your reviews. I treasure every single one. I encourage all questions. I'll either answer by e-mail reply or like this, at the end of the story. My e-mail is at the beginning of the episode. *salute* Until next time, my friends…