Why?

Ridiculous, thought Wes. Had to be a blow to the head that was making him think -- no, best not to even spell it out. Just go with the flow, that was what he was best at anyway. Let the situation happen and adjust, adapt, and survive. Wes was a past master at that; look, for example, at the whole Time Force thing.

"What are you so preoccupied about?" Katie came out of the small inner room where Ben had taken her to treat her arm. She flexed it, twisting the wrist this way and that.

Wes ignored her question, that being another in his broad spectrum of talents. "How's it feel?"

She shrugged and joined him on the bench in the middle of the spare room. "A little numb still, but Ben said that would pass." Katie looked around. "I have to say, considering all the futuretech he's got back there," she indicated the inner room with a jerk of her head, "this is pretty primitive."

Wes agreed. The room was not much more than a glorified cave, stone, spare and Spartan. Rock walls, dirt floor, cut deep into a cliffside. Of course the console in the corner and what looked like a holoscreen kind of threw off the whole hermit image.

Hermit. Unbidden, Eric's voice echoed in his head, overlaying another, higher, voice. "...old Ben lives out beyond the Dune Sea. He's kind of a strange old hermit..."

"Argh!" Wes shook his head violently and ran a hand over his face. Not possible, not possible!

Katie shot him a strange look. "Are you all right?"

Wes huffed out a breath. "Okay. Let me just ask you two things."

"Shoot."

"One, did I get hit in the head?"

Katie smiled. "Not that I know of. But then I did fall off a cliff and break my arm, so it's not like I was paying real close attention."

Wes gritted his teeth. That fit too, dammit all to hell. "Right," he managed, "so you did."

Katie was looking doubtfully at him now. Wes didn't blame her, considering. "What's the second question?" she asked.

"This desert we're in... would you call it a dune sea?" Wes concentrated. Say no. Saynosaynosaynosaynosayno.

Katie looked out the open door of the shelter at the desert beyond. "Sure, I guess so. Maybe the edge of one, anyway. Why?"

Shit. "No reason," he croaked. "Forget I said anything."

~*~

There was a moment of stunned silence, following his statement, then Eric heard both Kimberly and Ven draw breath to ask for explanations. He beat them to the punch. "How do I know? Because whoever it was that interrogated me told me that's what they'd used...and it matched up to the description of tmazacol's attributes that Frank Peterson gave to me."

"Frank?" Kimberly queried.

"Who's Frank Peterson?" Ven asked.

"The person who shut the tmazacol project down," Eric answered. "Amongst other things." Kimberly swore. She'd obviously recalled what he was talking about now. "It was a research project that went...AWOL," he continued, more for Ven's benefit than anything else. "Peterson cleaned up the mess." He grimaced. "With help."

"What do you mean?" Ven asked.

Eric sighed. "Frank Peterson works -- worked -- for the US Government. I don't know exactly who for, I just know that periodically, he showed up on my doorstep asking for the Silver Guardians' help. The tmazacol project was one of those occasions."

There was a long pause. Eric thought that Ven was probably frowning. Kimberly, he knew, was probably planning something especially painful for the next time she saw Peterson. She didn't like Peterson all that much and in particular she disliked the way Peterson had tended to show up, out of the blue, needing help with something or other. And seeing how many times things he's done has come round to bite me on the ass, I guess I can see her point, he mused wryly. This occasion had been particularly infuriating from Kimberly's point of view -- Peterson had shown up on Christmas Eve, practically demanding Eric's help. And when I said no, he pulled the reactivation-and-declare-me-AWOL card. Way to endear yourself to your daughter-in-law when she's eight months pregnant.

"You're sure they said it was tmazacol?" Ven finally said.

"Yeah. Version beta five, is my guess."

"What makes you think you're screwed? I've never heard of this drug before."

"Because, if I know Frank, he's destroyed all the records relating to the project."

"That's not a problem," said Ven. "I've got the chemical makeup from your bloodstream -- I can..."

"Eric, what haven't you said?" Kimberly asked, cutting Ven off in mid-sentence. Damn, but she knew him well. She curled her fingers around Eric's and he welcomed the familiar warmth -- even if it did mean the next few minutes were going to be even more difficult than he'd thought.

Eric grimaced. "I saw some of the...victims of the project. They -- people behind it -- tried out five versions of tmazacol. The first two, beta one and beta two, were pretty mild. Beta three and four killed some of their test subjects -- don't know any details."

"And beta five?"

Eric winced at Kim's whispered query. He'd do anything not to have to tell her. This was going to hurt. "Beta five...was the worst." He hesitated, but the hand holding his tightened. No avoiding it, then. Eric took a deep breath and plunged in. "It killed all its subjects. Every one. By the time we got there, they were..." The memory of what he'd seen made his stomach roll even now. Kim's hand went still. "I'm sorry, honey," he whispered hoarsely.

"No," said Kimberly softly. "You...you can't be right."

"Eric," said Ven gently, "what makes you think this is beta five?"

He cleared his throat. "Because none of the other versions left a residue in the victims' bloodstream."

~*~

Ben was bustling around, packing what Wes could only term 'stuff' into a leather satchel. The older man looked up at them, scratching his gray beard. "Are you ready?"

Wes and Katie looked at each other. "For?"

Ben indicated the door. "To go."

"Go where?" asked Katie, getting to her feet and following him into the bright sunshine.

Wes couldn't help it. "We going to Tashi station to pick up some power converters?" he asked as they walked toward the flying dune buggy doohickey.

Ben chuckled. "No. We're going, with luck, to find a way to get you home." He paused. "Where's Tashi station?"

Katie shot Wes a look. "Maybe you did hit your head," she muttered, shouldering past him to get into the whoozis.

They skimmed along the barren landscape. "Seriously, though, Ben, how do you plan to get us home?" Wes shouted over the buzz of the engine.

"I admit it would help if I had a clear idea where exactly that is," the hermit admitted. "Or maybe the question should be when?" Katie looked at Wes, startled. Ben chuckled. "Hit a nerve, did I?" He pointed to something looming on the horizon that looked to Wes' eyes like a brown lump. "That's where we're going."

Wes squinted through the haze of heat. The lump resolved into adobe-type walls and an arched gate. He slumped back in his seat, certain he was suffering from sunstroke or heat exhaustion or something. "By God," he muttered ominously, "if there's a cantina in there with goofy music playing I am seriously going to beat Eric up the next time I see him."

The thingamabob drew to a halt just inside the arch; a uniformed guard eyeballed the trio. Not molded-plastic-clad, Wes was relieved to note. "We're looking for two---" the guard began. Wes looked expectantly at Ben. Ben looked blank. "---people who mysteriously appeared in the outer wastes earlier today," the guard went on. "Can I see your ID, please?"

Ben looked outraged. "Certainly not. Do you have any idea who I am? Let me see your badge, young man."

The guard was nonplussed. "My -- my badge?" He looked around nervously as Ben's voice rose in volume.

"...trying to pick up a few simple supplies from my local outpost, where I've been a good customer for years, I'll have you know, you young pup, and suddenly I'm treated like some sort of desperado? The magistrate here happens to be a good friend of mine. Where's your supervisor? I demand to be --"

"Okay, okay!" The guard was beet red, running a finger around the inside of his collar. "I apologize, sir. Just -- just go ahead, and next time remember to bring your identification, all right?"

Katie caught Wes' eye and hid a smile. Ben took a deep breath and started again. "Are you daring to imply that something as crucial as the proper identification papers slipped my mind? That, sir, smacks of ageism! Gerald!"

It took Wes an astonished moment to realize Ben was talking to him. "Um... yes, dad?" Katie turned to look at the far horizon, her shoulders shaking.

"Take this whelp's badge number, Gerald. I fully intend to register a complaint."

Wes squinted and raised his upper lip, making his chin recede. "Aw, dad..." He gave his best imitation of a whining brat. "You didn't say I was gonna haveta do anything. You said this was just a quick trip. I was gonna go meet up with Biggs and Wedge and go trolling for girls."

Katie had a coughing fit and had to sit down. Ben cleared his throat. "Now, son, you know what happened the last time. That awful rash has only just gone away." It was Wes' turn for a coughing fit. Ben regarded him kindly. "Now be a good lad and take the guard's badge -- well, what do you know? He's gone." Ben sat down with a grin. "Now to find a place to park this."

Panting, Katie wiped futilely at her eyes. "Ruh...ruh...rash?!" She went off in a fit of laughter again at the expression on Wes' face.

He chuckled, though he could feel a blush rising. "Yeah, yeah. Just for the record, I've never had that kind of rash, okay?"

Ben patted his shoulder. "Of course you haven't. Here we are."

They'd pulled into a small alleyway. Wes got out of the flying thingie and rested his head against the wall, staring in disbelief. A blue police box, circa London, 1950. For crying out loud. Was there some sort of cosmic sign over his head reading 'Kick me, I'm a geek?'

"When I wake up, I am having therapy," he muttered. Katie gave him another of those 'is that an extra head you're sporting' looks and Wes sighed. To Ben he said, "Tell me that's not a TARDIS. Please."

"Well," Ben rubbed his nose, "um, no."

"No, it's not a TARDIS?"

"No, I can't say that."

"So you're saying it is a TARDIS?"

"I'm just saying I can't say it's not a TARDIS."

"KNOCK IT OFF!" That was Katie, getting sore. "I don't even know what the hell you two are talking about, but you're getting on my nerves!"

Ben looked at her, fingering his chin. He held out a small sack of what Wes figured was probably the local currency. "What say you two go get a drink or something while I talk to my friend here, see whether or not he can help you."

Wes watched with a feeling of resignation as the brown-cloaked figure opened the police box door and went in. Katie pursed her lips. "He's got a friend in there?" She shook her head. "What the heck is a TARDIS?"

Wes slanted her a look. "You know what? I think I really need that drink."

~*~

Wes balked at the entrance to the gloomy bar. "Not going in there."

Katie rolled her eyes. "You said that at the last four places. I'm hungry. Why not this time?"

Wes gave her a hunted look. "Look, I know you don't know what's happening here. I'm not really sure myself. Truthfully I'm not even sure I'm conscious. But in case I am, and in case my suspicions are correct..."

Katie folded her arms. "Spit it out, Mr. Holmes."

Wes turned mulish. "Look, I just...I'm not...how about you go in and get takeout?"

Katie frowned. "I wish I knew what you were on about, Wes. This isn't some dream, you know. We've been thrown around in time. This can't mean anything good for the people back home. We have to get back."

Her tone was reasonable in the way reasonable parents speak to a recalcitrant child. Wes got angry. "Dammit, Katie, don't you think I know that? My son's on the line, same as yours. My best friend's the one they're rescuing from who knows what levels of hell. It was my daughter who was abused by that freak Mirracon." He realized he was shouting and paused, gathering up the threads of his control. "I know where I'm needed, and it kills me that I'm not there. So don't treat me like some kid who runs with scissors, okay?"

Katie's brown eyes were sympathetic, and he knew she'd zeroed in on the part about Lexia. "Okay."

She touched his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. "Don't," he snapped, knowing perfectly well his voice was wobbly. "Just forget I said anything."

He was more rattled than he thought, Wes realized. It took him a few minutes to get himself back in control, resolutely squashing down his worry and guilt so he could deal with whatever it was that was happening here. Katie waited patiently, wandering a short distance away and examining the street in minute detail to give Wes the privacy he needed, bless her. By the time she walked back to him he had about half a smile on his face.

"Sorry," he said.

She gave him a light punch to the shoulder. "Forget it. Can we get some food now? I'm starved."

Wes looked at the bar again with misgiving. "Okay. I'm game. I guess."

The interior of the place was gloomy and poorly lit, filled with a zany assortment of humanity. But they were all humans, Wes was relieved to see. He took a seat at the bar and beckoned the bartender.

"Do you serve food here?" he asked with his best smile. The bartender, a brutish sort who looked like he cleaned the glasses with spit and an old sock, was unimpressed. He looked Wes over, glanced at Katie with a degree more appreciation, and slammed down a platter of completely unidentifiable foodstuffs in front of them. Katie, who had been examining the money Ben had given them, counted out some coins, which seemed to satisfy the bartender. He belched in response, anyway, which, Wes conceded, was probably as friendly as he was likely to get.

Wes stared at the food for a while, but it didn't change into anything more appetizing. Katie poked at it, bemused, and scooped up some gloppy stuff on her fingers, licking them gingerly. Wes raised his brows. "How is it?"

She was clearly trying not to make a face. "Indescribable," she said thickly. "Is there a napkin?" He gave her an 'are you kidding?' look, and she giggled, swallowing. "Ugh."

Wes chuckled. "Need something to wash that down?"

Katie nodded, hiding her mouth with her hand. "Please," she said.

A semi-rhythmic series of squeaks and blats came from the corner of the room, and Wes deduced that there was a band. Apparently they'd been on a break. He idly wondered what it would take to get them to break again.

Katie poked him. "I take it this is the goofy music you were worried about?"

Wes sighed. "Probably."

Abruptly laser fire erupted from a booth across the bar, causing a ripple of consternation among the other patrons. Wes squinted into the darkness; he could see the figure of a man, dark-haired, wearing dark pants and vest with a light shirt, looking about to see if anyone was going to make anything out of the commotion. "Oh, come off it," said Wes.

"Do what?" said Katie, looking around.

A heavy hand fell on Wes' shoulder from behind. "Oi," said the improbably large person attached to it. "I don't like you."

Wes looked at him with wide blue eyes. "No, really? That's unusual for me. Usually I'm in demand, socially."

Bluto's thick brows drew together across his equally thick forehead. "Wot?" He curled his fist into Wes' shirtfront and lifted him into the air. "I said, I don't like you. Wot you going to do about it?"

"Erk," said Wes.

A slim brown fist centered itself in Bluto's muzzle with a sharp report. The thug stilled, his tiny pig eyes rolling back into his head, and then his grip slowly unraveled, dropping Wes back into his seat. Bluto wavered slightly, then toppled with a crash. The other patrons of the bar stopped, turned, looked, and went back to what they were doing.

Wes grinned. "Thanks," he said to Katie.

She smiled back. "Anytime."

A brown-clad arm draped itself around Wes' shoulders. "Having fun, are we?" said Ben, helping himself to the goo on the platter. "Ugh. That's worse slop than usual. Barkeep!"

"What are you doing?" Katie hissed as Ben began to pound on the bar.

"Diversion," said Ben out of the corner of his mouth. "They're looking for you."

"They what?" said Wes, getting to his feet.

"Evidently our friend the border guard got over his chagrin. They know you're in the city. We need a -- oh, hello there," said Ben to the bartender, who belched at him inquiringly. "Listen, friend, what is this you're trying to pass off as food? Dung?"

Wes mentally counted while the bartender processed Ben's insult. Ben checked his fingernails. Wes got to thirty-seven.

"Mmmmmggrrrrraaaaagh!" said the bartender, feelingly, and hauled Ben over the bar, tossing him across the room. The hermit hit the far wall, shattering two light fixtures and denting the stucco before dropping loudly onto the table of the guy Wes had noticed earlier. The one who shot the other guy. Wes pursed his lips. This was probably not ideal.

He had little time to meditate on it, however, before the irate bartender grasped him under the arms and lifted him overhead. "Hey! What the...you...I didn't...don't..." Wes managed, kicking his legs in midair. This maneuver proved ineffective, and Wes found himself on top of Ben in short order.

"Oof," said his companion, and Wes had to agree. He rolled off the older man and staggered toward Katie, who was holding the bartender up in the air with one hand.

"You guys okay?" she shouted. Wes nodded, waving a hand at her while bent double, his hands on his knees.

"Diversion, huh?" he said to Ben. The guy with the vest gave them both a look, tilted his head as though listening, and then sprinted for the shadowy back of the bar just as the front door blew open and troops, (yep, plastic-clad ones) began pouring into the room.

In short order they had Katie surrounded, blasters at the ready. "Oops," said Ben, dragging Wes under the table.

"Leggo!" whispered Wes, wrestling briefly with the older man. "I've got to get to Katie!"

Ben shook him. "Listen to me! They want you both! If you go rushing out there you'll both end up dead."

"I'm not leaving her!"

"That is exactly what you're going to do, at least for now. We're going to need help to get her back." Ben stared hard at him.

There was something in the older man's eyes that made Wes agree, albeit reluctantly, and the two of them crawled through the melee to the back door, which opened onto an alleyway not unlike the one where they'd parked the whatsis. Ben seemed to know where he was going, though, and Wes followed him as he hurried through a maze of back streets and foul-smelling alleys.

There was a figure bent over the engine of the thingamabob, and the engine was sputtering to life. Ben strode forward and pulled the blaster from the figure's belt and held it to his head. "I believe you've got the wrong vehicle, there, son," he said mildly.

The figure straightened. It was the guy from the bar, who smiled sheepishly. "Heh," he said. "My mistake."

"You bet it was," said Wes, feeling oddly like Robin to Ben's Batman.

Ben leaned a hip on his doohickey, the muzzle of the blaster never wavering. "Going anywhere in particular?"

The man's eye's narrowed. "What's it to you?"

Ben looked at the man for a moment longer, then flipped the blaster around and handed it back. "It occurs to me we're in the same sort of fix," he said. "You ran from the guards. It so happens we'd like to avoid a run-in with them too. Maybe we can help each other."

The guy snorted. "I don't think so, old man," he said. "Now why don't you and Junior here get out of my way?"

Junior? Wes was torn between feeling insulted and complimented. The guy had to be in his thirties, tops.

Ben looked at the man as he tried to shoulder his way past. "Fine," he said. "Since you aren't interested in exorbitant compensation, we'll find someone who is."

The guy froze. "Did you say exorbitant...?"

"Compensation, yes. So you are interested, then?" The sounds of shouting and running feet echoed through the alleyway. Wes had to hand it to him: Ben seemed perfectly composed.

"All right, old man." The guy grinned and gestured toward the whoozie. "You've got yourself a deal." Ben got in; Wes made to get in next to him but the guy jerked his thumb toward the back seat. "I'll drive," he growled.

"Let me guess," said Wes acidly. "Han Solo, right?"

The guy gave him a look over his shoulder. "That pass for a name where you're from, Junior?" He snorted. "My name's Zordon. Now shut up and let me drive."

TO BE CONTINUED...