Chapter 2
[Columbia University: November 6, 4:58 am]
Dean William Yaeger crouched uncomfortably in the shadow of the campus library, his collar turned up against the early morning chill. He pulled it tighter against his throat, cursing softly as a draft worked its way inside his sweat-dampened white collar. "I still don't see why I have to be here," he growled for the dozenth time to the five other men ranged within several feet of his position. "It wasn't even my idea to call you so- called Ghostbusters in; the Trustees overruled my veto."
Doctor Peter Venkman, psychologist, parapsychologist and long-time bane of Yaeger's existence, interrupted his own conversation to offer the administrator a positively angelic smile. "But Dean Yaeger," he began, nudging a taller, blond man for attention. "We wouldn't think of invading your campus without your personal presence. Right, Egon?"
Yaeger winced at that familiar and hated sing-song voice, withdrawing even farther into his coat collar as the blond added in an amiable bass, "Quite right, Bill. With you here I'm sure we won't engage in any needless destruction of University property or assets." It sounded like a quote. It was.
Yaeger drew himself up stiffly erect. "I meant that five years ago, Spengler, and I mean it now: you three are a bunch of phonies." He clenched his fists as Spengler and Venkman exchanged an amused look. "I'm not going to stand for your nonsense -- remember that!"
Egon's smile broadened but he refrained from comment, instead adjusting a dial on the hand-held device he carried, and waving it around. "Ambient PKE," he reported, studying the results carefully. "No sign of manifestation yet,"
Yaeger sneered. "Still playing mad scientist, eh, Spengler?" He gestured disdainfully to the blinking PKE meter then to the bulky packs each man carried. "Those gadgets look like something out of Buck Rogers. What about it, Stantz? You like playing superhero games, right?"
"I like games," Peter interrupted. "Spin the bottle...."
Yaeger ignored him, preferring to address the round featured, somewhat younger man sitting cross-legged on the ground and ardently studying a map of the college. "Admit it, Stantz, you three are only here to make my life miserable, right?"
"Right!" Peter answered cheerfully.
"Absolutely," Egon agreed.
Earnest brown eyes rose to the administrator with none of the sarcasm evident in his colleagues. "We don't think those campus murders are being done by a human being," Ray explained patiently. "We picked up residual psychokinetic energy at two of the other murder sites and registered a significant breach of the reality envelope at the third. That clearly proves that there's a paranatural force at work here."
"You sound like Egon," Peter groaned, staring at his younger colleague with mock horror."
Egon grimaced. "I'm not that bad."
"Are, too."
"Am not."
"Are...."
"You," Yaeger interjected nastily, "are all crackpots."
"Sgt. Hernandez might not have agreed with you."
Yaeger turned to the speaker, a heretofore silent red-headed giant wearing a battered wool jacket which imperfectly concealed the bulge under his left arm. "You police really believe there's some kind of a boogie man responsible for the problems we've been experiencing?"
Police Sgt. O'Brian nodded but had no opportunity to reply, for the sixth and last member of their group, Winston Zeddemore, pushed forward then, closing until he could stare into Yaeger's contemptuous gray eyes. "I do not believe you! You call four horribly mutilated bodies in seven days a 'problem'?" He studied Yaeger with all the curiosity Egon might render a new addition to his mold collection, and shook his head. "The guys told me about you before but I can't say I really believed them -- until now."
"Why?" Yaeger demanded, looking from face to face with impartial dislike. "Because I choose not to believe there's some wild-eyed ghost roaming the campus killing students?" He snorted. "We'll find some tramp at the bottom of it all, mark my words."
That did it. O'Brian elbowed Winston aside to take up a truculent stance less than six inches from the astonished Dean. "You've been belly-aching all night, Yaeger, and I've had enough of it. My partner was last night's victim -- a trained policewoman that I've see take down three armed muggers with her bare hands."
"Sergeant," Yaeger began, backing away nervously.
O'Brian pressed closer, towering over the portly man by several inches. "And there was no more than a thirty-second gap between the time Deloras screamed and when I found her ... body." He choked on the word, having to blink several times before he could go on. "When I found what was left of her body. I...."
"Pssst," Zeddemore interrupted O'Brian's harsh speech with a hand on his shoulder. "Is that one of your decoys over there?"
O'Brian contented himself with delivering a final glare to the cowed administrator -- much to conspicuous Venkman's delight -- before poking his head around the building's corner and following Winston's line of sight. He studied the gaily-dressed female making her way across the square carefully for a moment, then shook his head. "She's not one of mine," he declared at last. "Stupid woman -- walking home at five in the morning."
"She looks like she's drunk," Winston commented, squinting his eyes in an effort at better making out the stumbling figure. He shot O'Brian a smile, teeth very white against his dark skin. "Wait here -- I'll go bring her back."
"Right."
Zeddemore edged around O'Brian's bulky frame, then crossed the distance to the unidentified woman at a lope. Behind him, five pairs of eyes gave him their undivided attention, and even against the muted background of New York City traffic, the distinct whine of three nuclear accelerators powering up was clearly audible.
The soft whine had faded to Winston's ears by the time he reached the woman. She wore skin tight black slacks under a loose jacket, four-inch high heels explaining her unsteady gait. She was clearly either drunk or high, so much so that she didn't even notice the approaching man until he was nearly upon her. "Wha' da'ya want?" she gasped, taking a step backwards but making no move to run.
Winston slowed his pace, covering the last few yards a step at a time. "It's okay, Miss, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm Winston Zeddemore -- one of the Ghostbusters."
The woman studied the black man's powerful physique and open good looks for nearly a minute before offering him a gap-toothed smile. "I'm Eunice. Glad to know ya, Mr. Ghostbuster."
Winston took her extended hand while casting a nervous look over his shoulder. "Eunice, there's been some trouble on the campus."
"It was in the papers," Eunice interjected.
"Right." Winston used his left hand to gesture towards the shadowy figures against the library wall, still gripping Eunice's hand with his right. "Why don't you let me walk you to that building over there? Those are my friends and a policeman. You'll be safe over there, okay?"
"I'm sure I'd be even safer somewhere with you," Eunice hinted coyly, squeezing Winston's hand.
Winston smiled. "Maybe later." He tucked the woman's arm in his own and guided her around towards the knot of police and Ghostbusters. "We'll go talk to Sergeant.... What was that?"
"What was what?" Eunice asked, also stopping to listen. Suddenly she gagged, clutching at Zeddemore tightly. "What is that smell?"
Winston stiffened. "Policewoman Hernandez mentioned a smell in her last report," he muttered. He released the woman's arm and gave her a shove towards the library. "Run for it, Eunice! I'll cover you."
Eunice obediently began to run but, after spending the night imbibing, was too uncoordinated to make it more than a few yards before her ankle turned, depositing her butt first onto the walk. She looked up, following Winston's frozen gaze to where a dark shape had detached itself from the shadow of one of the nearer buildings and was even now approaching. Three red eyes glowed brightly in the gloom, all situated a dozen or so feet above the ground. That was when Eunice began to scream.
"Game time!" Winston bellowed, unlimbering his particle thrower and powering it up. He pressed the trigger and a bolt of ionized energy erupted from the barrel, striking and briefly limning the dark form in blue-white fire. Then the beam faded, swallowed up at the target though not the source. Winston continued to fire as the half-seen shape lumbered forward, dried leaves crunching under snake-like appendages the size of telephone poles. One of them whipped out with unexpected speed missing Winston's head by inches. His eyes widened at the sight of the multiple razor-sharp claws attached to its tip, and he took a hurried step backward coming up almost immediately against the woman's supine body.
"Get up, Eunice!" he pleaded, holding his ground against another swipe and continuing to fire. "Come on -- move!" Paralyzed with fright, the woman didn't respond; she remained where she was, screaming hysterically and beating the ground with her fists.
Winston tried again. "Eu--" He never got to finish for at that moment another of those elephantine tentacles whipped out, catching him a powerful blow to the shoulder. Winston was catapulted backwards a half-dozen yards to slam heavily into the sidewalk. His head impacted on the curb and he lay still.
"Winston!" Ray's yell preceded the man himself by seconds. The youngest Ghostbuster opened up with his own proton rifle while still some distance from his target. His aim was true, however, and he struck the creature dead center, playing his beam across its flank with the same result as Winston's attack: namely, none. Then Peter and Egon were there, too, firing their own weapons and lighting the night with enough directed energy to light a city block. Caught unprepared by the barrage, the creature halted midstep.
"We're not having much effect," Egon called, having to raise his voice to be heard over the sound or the packs. He adjusted a dial and his stream perceptibly brightened. "Try full power!"
"I'm already on full power!" Ray returned, continuing his own attack. "I think it's corporeal -- we can't trap it!"
"So what are we going to do with it?" Peter demanded, dropping to one knee to fire at the creature's belly. He started, nearly losing control of his thrower at the sharp report to his immediate right. He tightened his grip, then turned his head carefully until he could make out Sgt. O'Brian, who was discharging his service revolver with grim determination. Peter shook his head. "No good, bunky," he told the man calmly. "If those things ever worked, you wouldn't need us."
"Yeah, I can see how much good you're doing," O'Brian retorted, firing off his final bullet and watching with relief as Eunice fled the scene. "Got any bright ideas?"
Peter shrugged. "Nope. D'you, Egon?"
Spengler opened his mouth to reply, his flippant response transformed into a warning yell as the creature gave a final powerful twist of its body and broke free of the beams. "Look out, Ray!" he called instead. "It's headed your way!"
Undeterred by the creature's increasing proximity, Stantz made several adjustments to his own thrower controls. The visible energy output shifted both color and intensity as he tested different power levels and ionization rates against the advancing entity, none of them doing more than slowing it fractionally.
"Run!" Egon ordered from the creature's opposite flank. "You're too close!"
Stantz abandoned his experimentation at that last shout, diving frantically to the side to escape the powerful lash of an appendage. He'd miscalculated its speed, however, for the claws caught him before he could get clear, catching him high up on the back and slashing downward. The strap securing his proton pack parted first under that deadly assault, allowing the bulky pack to swing free to one side. The talon didn't stop there, for it continued its descent, cutting through the sand-colored uniform and skin as though they were tissue. Ray cried out, dropping into a heap on the damp ground.
The powerful nether-being lifted yet another of the writhing tentacles which comprised its huge body, preparing to again strike the injured Stantz -- a blow which would certainly be a fatal one. Peter leaped to his feet, hastily retraining his beam to the ruby eyes far above his head. He grunted with satisfaction as the creature emitted a loud howl and shamble- slithered back several lengths. "Bingo!" he crowed, following it. "Ray, are you okay?"
"I'm ... fine," came Stantz' quavering response.
Venkman spared him a single concerned glance but had no time for more as the entity broke free of the blistering energy stream and fled, moving fast.
"It's headed for Kimball Hall," Spengler said at Peter's shoulder. "I saw a light in the windows earlier -- there may be people in there."
"That's Professor Cage's lab!" Yaeger gasped, joining them at last. "He often works throughout the night!"
The two uninjured Ghostbusters exchanged a look then started off in pursuit of their quarry, their long legs eating up the distance in great strides. They reached the indicated building seconds after the creature had disappeared through the wall; panting slightly, they halted before the heavy fire doors, listening intently.
"I don't hear anything," Peter whispered, flattening himself against the stucco wall and grasping the knob. It turned easily in his hand, the doors swinging open with a squeak. "You ready?"
Egon nodded, the knuckles wrapped around his particle rifle were white. "Now!" With that, Peter kicked open the door and the two burst into a great arched foyer to confront ... nothing.
"It couldn't have hidden that fast," Egon remarked, peering around. They edged their way slowly down the corridor, bootheels ringing hollowly on the hardwood floor, senses stretched to the limit for signs of their prey.
"What do you think?" Peter asked minutes later as yet one more darkened room yielded nothing more sinister than some dead frogs soaking in formaldehyde.
Egon adjusted his red-rimmed glasses more firmly on the bridge of his long nose, then shrugged. "I don't...."
"What do you want here?" a loud voice demanded from down the hall.
The unexpected noise sent both Ghostbusters into a defensive crouch, fingers on the triggers of their weapons. Battle-trained reflexes were the only things which prevented the short, stout newcomer from being instantly reduced to his component atoms.
"Cage?" Peter gulped, lowering his weapon at once.
Professor Samuel Cage gaped, not twitching a muscle until Egon, too, redirected his proton rifle. His mouth opened and closed for several seconds like a landed fish until he could force his tongue into service. "Peter Venkman!" he raged, the color returning to his cheeks in a flood. "I should have known it was you disrupting my experiment at a critical stage."
Egon ignored the irate man to check his instruments. "There's another door at the end of this corridor," he said, gesturing with the meter. "I'll check it out but I'm no longer registering high-level PKE. I think it's gone."
"Right." Peter stood watching until the blond disappeared through the door in question, then sighed and returned his rifle to its clip. "Don't suppose you saw a monster go by?" he quipped, brushing past the glaring Cage to enter the laboratory. "About so high.... Hey, nice lab coat. New?"
A single glance convinced him that the huge being had not, in fact, ducked in here but he circled the room anyway, alert for anything. His tour brought him past long banks of monitors and computer equipment, some of them hooked up to what Peter immediately identified as an electro- encephalograph and assorted bio-recorders. His circuit terminated at an observation port which overlooked a slightly smaller, more dimly lit room done up with the trappings of a hospital ward. Curious, Peter paused to peek inside. "What's this?"
"That," Cage replied with a note of pride, "is my experiment."
Peter stood watching, taking in every facet of the fully equipped room with one sweep of green eyes. It wasn't large -- perhaps twelve feet by twelve -- but was crammed full of blinking equipment girding a raised hospital bed located in the geometric center of the floor. A draped figure lay on the bed, distinctly feminine in form, while a white-uniformed woman bent over it, finishing the task of changing the sheets. "Oh." Peter nodded wisely. "You're a voy-er."
"That's voyeur," Cage snapped, pronouncing the word correctly; Peter snickered. "And I am not. It's a new approach to sleep research -- something I believe even you dabbled in at one time."
Peter picked up one of the notebooks laying on the nearby desk; he opened it up, scanning the entries with an experienced eye. "Only until I got into the parapsychological field," he commented absently. "Hmmm, Marie D'Loeffier. French?"
"Haitian," Cage corrected, snatching the notebook away. "Transfer from Florida State." He hesitated, the desire to discuss his accomplishment visibly warring with reluctance in his flabby features. "She's been asleep seven weeks," he blurted at last. "Thanks to me."
Peter left off his renewed perusal of the women to shoot Cage a hard look. "Drugs?"
"No." The older man laid a hand possessively on a long metal console studded with switches and gauges. "I'm using electrodes to provide stimulation to very specific portions of Marie's brain, thus keeping her in a permanent state of artificially induced Alpha rhythm. Theoretically, I can keep her asleep forever."
"Induced Alpha?" Peter sputtered. "Look, Cage, that woman could die...."
Cage raised a hand, cutting off the younger scientist's protest. "Marie is being constantly monitored," he returned with great dignity, "and is in no present danger."
"Probably the most fun she's going to get in bed," Peter retorted dryly, "considering who she's here with."
Cage reddened again. "Now look, Venkman," he began dangerously.
"P-Peter?"
That soft hail from the entrance drew both combatants around at once. Ray Stantz stood leaning shakily against the doorjamb, a tight grip on the knob the only thing keeping him on his feet at all. Peter was at his side in an instant, steadying the sagging figure with an arm slung about his chest. "Looks like he got you pretty good," he remarked, forcibly turning Stantz around to examine the bloody gashes on his back. "Nasty," he decided after a look, "but they're not too serious."
"Not me," Ray protested, clinging to Peter's arm. "It's Winston." He ran a hand through his auburn hair leaving behind a streak of blood. "You've got to come, Peter, I think he's hurt bad!"
Peter's concerned expression transmuted into one of outright fear. Steadying Ray with a tight grip on his elbow, he hurriedly ushered the younger man out of the lab towards the main doors, promptly forgetting Cage existed at all.
Egon, returning from his unfruitful hunt, met them by the entrance and the trio emerged into the rose-tinted air of dawn as a unit.
"Over there." Ray pointed to the knot of uniformed men and women on the far side of the plaza, then gasped as the action pulled on his injuries. Peter urged him gently into Egon's direction, waiting until the tall blond had taken over steadying the engineer before heading for the larger group at a sprint.
O'Brian met Peter en route, then pushed ahead of him to clear a path through the crowd. "Don't touch him," the policeman advised over his shoulder. "We think he's got a concussion -- maybe even a fractured skull."
Peter knelt by his friend, clenching his teeth at the sight of the blood which pooled under the dark head. He patted Winston's shoulder clumsily although the man did not stir, and looked up at the arrival of Egon and Ray. "He's unconscious," he said unnecessarily.
"Will he be all right?" Ray asked in a small voice.
O'Brian, standing a little to the side, was the one who answered. "Ambulance is on the way," he assured the stricken men. "Don't worry, we'll get him -- and you," he added, catching sight of Ray's torn back, "to a hospital as fast as we can."
Dean Yaeger appeared, bulldozing his way through the crowd with impartial disregard for their uniforms. "I told the Trustees you Ghostbusters weren't going to do us any good!" he raged, waving both fists in the air. "I'll see you're dismissed from this case at once! I'll have you barred from.... Ulp!"
That last was the result of Peter Venkman's fingers closing forcefully around Yaeger's throat and giving it a very firm squeeze. "You get this straight, Bill," he purred dangerously. "Two of my buddies got hurt on this one -- bad. That means we're not talking business anymore, Bill. It's personal."
He leaned closer until his breath just tickled Yaeger's nose. "You even try to stop us from bagging this bird and we'll come back and reduce this whole place -- and you -- to Kibbles and Bits. Got it?"
Yaeger glanced nervously from the glittering green eyes to Egon's cold blue ones, and nodded.
"Good!" Peter released him and stepped back, taking a minute to brush a wrinkle out of Yaeger's coat. "Guess that means we're still on the case, huh? 'S'cuse us, Dean, but the Ghostbusters have got some busting to do!"
***
[Columbia University: November 6, 4:58 am]
Dean William Yaeger crouched uncomfortably in the shadow of the campus library, his collar turned up against the early morning chill. He pulled it tighter against his throat, cursing softly as a draft worked its way inside his sweat-dampened white collar. "I still don't see why I have to be here," he growled for the dozenth time to the five other men ranged within several feet of his position. "It wasn't even my idea to call you so- called Ghostbusters in; the Trustees overruled my veto."
Doctor Peter Venkman, psychologist, parapsychologist and long-time bane of Yaeger's existence, interrupted his own conversation to offer the administrator a positively angelic smile. "But Dean Yaeger," he began, nudging a taller, blond man for attention. "We wouldn't think of invading your campus without your personal presence. Right, Egon?"
Yaeger winced at that familiar and hated sing-song voice, withdrawing even farther into his coat collar as the blond added in an amiable bass, "Quite right, Bill. With you here I'm sure we won't engage in any needless destruction of University property or assets." It sounded like a quote. It was.
Yaeger drew himself up stiffly erect. "I meant that five years ago, Spengler, and I mean it now: you three are a bunch of phonies." He clenched his fists as Spengler and Venkman exchanged an amused look. "I'm not going to stand for your nonsense -- remember that!"
Egon's smile broadened but he refrained from comment, instead adjusting a dial on the hand-held device he carried, and waving it around. "Ambient PKE," he reported, studying the results carefully. "No sign of manifestation yet,"
Yaeger sneered. "Still playing mad scientist, eh, Spengler?" He gestured disdainfully to the blinking PKE meter then to the bulky packs each man carried. "Those gadgets look like something out of Buck Rogers. What about it, Stantz? You like playing superhero games, right?"
"I like games," Peter interrupted. "Spin the bottle...."
Yaeger ignored him, preferring to address the round featured, somewhat younger man sitting cross-legged on the ground and ardently studying a map of the college. "Admit it, Stantz, you three are only here to make my life miserable, right?"
"Right!" Peter answered cheerfully.
"Absolutely," Egon agreed.
Earnest brown eyes rose to the administrator with none of the sarcasm evident in his colleagues. "We don't think those campus murders are being done by a human being," Ray explained patiently. "We picked up residual psychokinetic energy at two of the other murder sites and registered a significant breach of the reality envelope at the third. That clearly proves that there's a paranatural force at work here."
"You sound like Egon," Peter groaned, staring at his younger colleague with mock horror."
Egon grimaced. "I'm not that bad."
"Are, too."
"Am not."
"Are...."
"You," Yaeger interjected nastily, "are all crackpots."
"Sgt. Hernandez might not have agreed with you."
Yaeger turned to the speaker, a heretofore silent red-headed giant wearing a battered wool jacket which imperfectly concealed the bulge under his left arm. "You police really believe there's some kind of a boogie man responsible for the problems we've been experiencing?"
Police Sgt. O'Brian nodded but had no opportunity to reply, for the sixth and last member of their group, Winston Zeddemore, pushed forward then, closing until he could stare into Yaeger's contemptuous gray eyes. "I do not believe you! You call four horribly mutilated bodies in seven days a 'problem'?" He studied Yaeger with all the curiosity Egon might render a new addition to his mold collection, and shook his head. "The guys told me about you before but I can't say I really believed them -- until now."
"Why?" Yaeger demanded, looking from face to face with impartial dislike. "Because I choose not to believe there's some wild-eyed ghost roaming the campus killing students?" He snorted. "We'll find some tramp at the bottom of it all, mark my words."
That did it. O'Brian elbowed Winston aside to take up a truculent stance less than six inches from the astonished Dean. "You've been belly-aching all night, Yaeger, and I've had enough of it. My partner was last night's victim -- a trained policewoman that I've see take down three armed muggers with her bare hands."
"Sergeant," Yaeger began, backing away nervously.
O'Brian pressed closer, towering over the portly man by several inches. "And there was no more than a thirty-second gap between the time Deloras screamed and when I found her ... body." He choked on the word, having to blink several times before he could go on. "When I found what was left of her body. I...."
"Pssst," Zeddemore interrupted O'Brian's harsh speech with a hand on his shoulder. "Is that one of your decoys over there?"
O'Brian contented himself with delivering a final glare to the cowed administrator -- much to conspicuous Venkman's delight -- before poking his head around the building's corner and following Winston's line of sight. He studied the gaily-dressed female making her way across the square carefully for a moment, then shook his head. "She's not one of mine," he declared at last. "Stupid woman -- walking home at five in the morning."
"She looks like she's drunk," Winston commented, squinting his eyes in an effort at better making out the stumbling figure. He shot O'Brian a smile, teeth very white against his dark skin. "Wait here -- I'll go bring her back."
"Right."
Zeddemore edged around O'Brian's bulky frame, then crossed the distance to the unidentified woman at a lope. Behind him, five pairs of eyes gave him their undivided attention, and even against the muted background of New York City traffic, the distinct whine of three nuclear accelerators powering up was clearly audible.
The soft whine had faded to Winston's ears by the time he reached the woman. She wore skin tight black slacks under a loose jacket, four-inch high heels explaining her unsteady gait. She was clearly either drunk or high, so much so that she didn't even notice the approaching man until he was nearly upon her. "Wha' da'ya want?" she gasped, taking a step backwards but making no move to run.
Winston slowed his pace, covering the last few yards a step at a time. "It's okay, Miss, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm Winston Zeddemore -- one of the Ghostbusters."
The woman studied the black man's powerful physique and open good looks for nearly a minute before offering him a gap-toothed smile. "I'm Eunice. Glad to know ya, Mr. Ghostbuster."
Winston took her extended hand while casting a nervous look over his shoulder. "Eunice, there's been some trouble on the campus."
"It was in the papers," Eunice interjected.
"Right." Winston used his left hand to gesture towards the shadowy figures against the library wall, still gripping Eunice's hand with his right. "Why don't you let me walk you to that building over there? Those are my friends and a policeman. You'll be safe over there, okay?"
"I'm sure I'd be even safer somewhere with you," Eunice hinted coyly, squeezing Winston's hand.
Winston smiled. "Maybe later." He tucked the woman's arm in his own and guided her around towards the knot of police and Ghostbusters. "We'll go talk to Sergeant.... What was that?"
"What was what?" Eunice asked, also stopping to listen. Suddenly she gagged, clutching at Zeddemore tightly. "What is that smell?"
Winston stiffened. "Policewoman Hernandez mentioned a smell in her last report," he muttered. He released the woman's arm and gave her a shove towards the library. "Run for it, Eunice! I'll cover you."
Eunice obediently began to run but, after spending the night imbibing, was too uncoordinated to make it more than a few yards before her ankle turned, depositing her butt first onto the walk. She looked up, following Winston's frozen gaze to where a dark shape had detached itself from the shadow of one of the nearer buildings and was even now approaching. Three red eyes glowed brightly in the gloom, all situated a dozen or so feet above the ground. That was when Eunice began to scream.
"Game time!" Winston bellowed, unlimbering his particle thrower and powering it up. He pressed the trigger and a bolt of ionized energy erupted from the barrel, striking and briefly limning the dark form in blue-white fire. Then the beam faded, swallowed up at the target though not the source. Winston continued to fire as the half-seen shape lumbered forward, dried leaves crunching under snake-like appendages the size of telephone poles. One of them whipped out with unexpected speed missing Winston's head by inches. His eyes widened at the sight of the multiple razor-sharp claws attached to its tip, and he took a hurried step backward coming up almost immediately against the woman's supine body.
"Get up, Eunice!" he pleaded, holding his ground against another swipe and continuing to fire. "Come on -- move!" Paralyzed with fright, the woman didn't respond; she remained where she was, screaming hysterically and beating the ground with her fists.
Winston tried again. "Eu--" He never got to finish for at that moment another of those elephantine tentacles whipped out, catching him a powerful blow to the shoulder. Winston was catapulted backwards a half-dozen yards to slam heavily into the sidewalk. His head impacted on the curb and he lay still.
"Winston!" Ray's yell preceded the man himself by seconds. The youngest Ghostbuster opened up with his own proton rifle while still some distance from his target. His aim was true, however, and he struck the creature dead center, playing his beam across its flank with the same result as Winston's attack: namely, none. Then Peter and Egon were there, too, firing their own weapons and lighting the night with enough directed energy to light a city block. Caught unprepared by the barrage, the creature halted midstep.
"We're not having much effect," Egon called, having to raise his voice to be heard over the sound or the packs. He adjusted a dial and his stream perceptibly brightened. "Try full power!"
"I'm already on full power!" Ray returned, continuing his own attack. "I think it's corporeal -- we can't trap it!"
"So what are we going to do with it?" Peter demanded, dropping to one knee to fire at the creature's belly. He started, nearly losing control of his thrower at the sharp report to his immediate right. He tightened his grip, then turned his head carefully until he could make out Sgt. O'Brian, who was discharging his service revolver with grim determination. Peter shook his head. "No good, bunky," he told the man calmly. "If those things ever worked, you wouldn't need us."
"Yeah, I can see how much good you're doing," O'Brian retorted, firing off his final bullet and watching with relief as Eunice fled the scene. "Got any bright ideas?"
Peter shrugged. "Nope. D'you, Egon?"
Spengler opened his mouth to reply, his flippant response transformed into a warning yell as the creature gave a final powerful twist of its body and broke free of the beams. "Look out, Ray!" he called instead. "It's headed your way!"
Undeterred by the creature's increasing proximity, Stantz made several adjustments to his own thrower controls. The visible energy output shifted both color and intensity as he tested different power levels and ionization rates against the advancing entity, none of them doing more than slowing it fractionally.
"Run!" Egon ordered from the creature's opposite flank. "You're too close!"
Stantz abandoned his experimentation at that last shout, diving frantically to the side to escape the powerful lash of an appendage. He'd miscalculated its speed, however, for the claws caught him before he could get clear, catching him high up on the back and slashing downward. The strap securing his proton pack parted first under that deadly assault, allowing the bulky pack to swing free to one side. The talon didn't stop there, for it continued its descent, cutting through the sand-colored uniform and skin as though they were tissue. Ray cried out, dropping into a heap on the damp ground.
The powerful nether-being lifted yet another of the writhing tentacles which comprised its huge body, preparing to again strike the injured Stantz -- a blow which would certainly be a fatal one. Peter leaped to his feet, hastily retraining his beam to the ruby eyes far above his head. He grunted with satisfaction as the creature emitted a loud howl and shamble- slithered back several lengths. "Bingo!" he crowed, following it. "Ray, are you okay?"
"I'm ... fine," came Stantz' quavering response.
Venkman spared him a single concerned glance but had no time for more as the entity broke free of the blistering energy stream and fled, moving fast.
"It's headed for Kimball Hall," Spengler said at Peter's shoulder. "I saw a light in the windows earlier -- there may be people in there."
"That's Professor Cage's lab!" Yaeger gasped, joining them at last. "He often works throughout the night!"
The two uninjured Ghostbusters exchanged a look then started off in pursuit of their quarry, their long legs eating up the distance in great strides. They reached the indicated building seconds after the creature had disappeared through the wall; panting slightly, they halted before the heavy fire doors, listening intently.
"I don't hear anything," Peter whispered, flattening himself against the stucco wall and grasping the knob. It turned easily in his hand, the doors swinging open with a squeak. "You ready?"
Egon nodded, the knuckles wrapped around his particle rifle were white. "Now!" With that, Peter kicked open the door and the two burst into a great arched foyer to confront ... nothing.
"It couldn't have hidden that fast," Egon remarked, peering around. They edged their way slowly down the corridor, bootheels ringing hollowly on the hardwood floor, senses stretched to the limit for signs of their prey.
"What do you think?" Peter asked minutes later as yet one more darkened room yielded nothing more sinister than some dead frogs soaking in formaldehyde.
Egon adjusted his red-rimmed glasses more firmly on the bridge of his long nose, then shrugged. "I don't...."
"What do you want here?" a loud voice demanded from down the hall.
The unexpected noise sent both Ghostbusters into a defensive crouch, fingers on the triggers of their weapons. Battle-trained reflexes were the only things which prevented the short, stout newcomer from being instantly reduced to his component atoms.
"Cage?" Peter gulped, lowering his weapon at once.
Professor Samuel Cage gaped, not twitching a muscle until Egon, too, redirected his proton rifle. His mouth opened and closed for several seconds like a landed fish until he could force his tongue into service. "Peter Venkman!" he raged, the color returning to his cheeks in a flood. "I should have known it was you disrupting my experiment at a critical stage."
Egon ignored the irate man to check his instruments. "There's another door at the end of this corridor," he said, gesturing with the meter. "I'll check it out but I'm no longer registering high-level PKE. I think it's gone."
"Right." Peter stood watching until the blond disappeared through the door in question, then sighed and returned his rifle to its clip. "Don't suppose you saw a monster go by?" he quipped, brushing past the glaring Cage to enter the laboratory. "About so high.... Hey, nice lab coat. New?"
A single glance convinced him that the huge being had not, in fact, ducked in here but he circled the room anyway, alert for anything. His tour brought him past long banks of monitors and computer equipment, some of them hooked up to what Peter immediately identified as an electro- encephalograph and assorted bio-recorders. His circuit terminated at an observation port which overlooked a slightly smaller, more dimly lit room done up with the trappings of a hospital ward. Curious, Peter paused to peek inside. "What's this?"
"That," Cage replied with a note of pride, "is my experiment."
Peter stood watching, taking in every facet of the fully equipped room with one sweep of green eyes. It wasn't large -- perhaps twelve feet by twelve -- but was crammed full of blinking equipment girding a raised hospital bed located in the geometric center of the floor. A draped figure lay on the bed, distinctly feminine in form, while a white-uniformed woman bent over it, finishing the task of changing the sheets. "Oh." Peter nodded wisely. "You're a voy-er."
"That's voyeur," Cage snapped, pronouncing the word correctly; Peter snickered. "And I am not. It's a new approach to sleep research -- something I believe even you dabbled in at one time."
Peter picked up one of the notebooks laying on the nearby desk; he opened it up, scanning the entries with an experienced eye. "Only until I got into the parapsychological field," he commented absently. "Hmmm, Marie D'Loeffier. French?"
"Haitian," Cage corrected, snatching the notebook away. "Transfer from Florida State." He hesitated, the desire to discuss his accomplishment visibly warring with reluctance in his flabby features. "She's been asleep seven weeks," he blurted at last. "Thanks to me."
Peter left off his renewed perusal of the women to shoot Cage a hard look. "Drugs?"
"No." The older man laid a hand possessively on a long metal console studded with switches and gauges. "I'm using electrodes to provide stimulation to very specific portions of Marie's brain, thus keeping her in a permanent state of artificially induced Alpha rhythm. Theoretically, I can keep her asleep forever."
"Induced Alpha?" Peter sputtered. "Look, Cage, that woman could die...."
Cage raised a hand, cutting off the younger scientist's protest. "Marie is being constantly monitored," he returned with great dignity, "and is in no present danger."
"Probably the most fun she's going to get in bed," Peter retorted dryly, "considering who she's here with."
Cage reddened again. "Now look, Venkman," he began dangerously.
"P-Peter?"
That soft hail from the entrance drew both combatants around at once. Ray Stantz stood leaning shakily against the doorjamb, a tight grip on the knob the only thing keeping him on his feet at all. Peter was at his side in an instant, steadying the sagging figure with an arm slung about his chest. "Looks like he got you pretty good," he remarked, forcibly turning Stantz around to examine the bloody gashes on his back. "Nasty," he decided after a look, "but they're not too serious."
"Not me," Ray protested, clinging to Peter's arm. "It's Winston." He ran a hand through his auburn hair leaving behind a streak of blood. "You've got to come, Peter, I think he's hurt bad!"
Peter's concerned expression transmuted into one of outright fear. Steadying Ray with a tight grip on his elbow, he hurriedly ushered the younger man out of the lab towards the main doors, promptly forgetting Cage existed at all.
Egon, returning from his unfruitful hunt, met them by the entrance and the trio emerged into the rose-tinted air of dawn as a unit.
"Over there." Ray pointed to the knot of uniformed men and women on the far side of the plaza, then gasped as the action pulled on his injuries. Peter urged him gently into Egon's direction, waiting until the tall blond had taken over steadying the engineer before heading for the larger group at a sprint.
O'Brian met Peter en route, then pushed ahead of him to clear a path through the crowd. "Don't touch him," the policeman advised over his shoulder. "We think he's got a concussion -- maybe even a fractured skull."
Peter knelt by his friend, clenching his teeth at the sight of the blood which pooled under the dark head. He patted Winston's shoulder clumsily although the man did not stir, and looked up at the arrival of Egon and Ray. "He's unconscious," he said unnecessarily.
"Will he be all right?" Ray asked in a small voice.
O'Brian, standing a little to the side, was the one who answered. "Ambulance is on the way," he assured the stricken men. "Don't worry, we'll get him -- and you," he added, catching sight of Ray's torn back, "to a hospital as fast as we can."
Dean Yaeger appeared, bulldozing his way through the crowd with impartial disregard for their uniforms. "I told the Trustees you Ghostbusters weren't going to do us any good!" he raged, waving both fists in the air. "I'll see you're dismissed from this case at once! I'll have you barred from.... Ulp!"
That last was the result of Peter Venkman's fingers closing forcefully around Yaeger's throat and giving it a very firm squeeze. "You get this straight, Bill," he purred dangerously. "Two of my buddies got hurt on this one -- bad. That means we're not talking business anymore, Bill. It's personal."
He leaned closer until his breath just tickled Yaeger's nose. "You even try to stop us from bagging this bird and we'll come back and reduce this whole place -- and you -- to Kibbles and Bits. Got it?"
Yaeger glanced nervously from the glittering green eyes to Egon's cold blue ones, and nodded.
"Good!" Peter released him and stepped back, taking a minute to brush a wrinkle out of Yaeger's coat. "Guess that means we're still on the case, huh? 'S'cuse us, Dean, but the Ghostbusters have got some busting to do!"
***
