Chapter 8 - Revelation
"Something's comin' out!"
"YOU! STOP WHERE YOU ARE AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP!"
Tirad stood blinking in the sunlight as he paused at the top of the steps and smiled lazily at the humans spread out in an arch around the entrance to the tunnel. Enforcers from the looks of them. They had that authoritative look about them and held devices not carried by the others milling around behind their lines. Weapons he presumed.
"My God! What is it?" one of them asked. "And where are the Ghostbusters?"
"Who cares?" snapped another before raising the horn-shaped amplifier to his mouth again. "I SAID PUT YOUR HANDS UP! IF YOU CONTINUE TO MOVE FORWARD, WE WILL OPEN FIRE!"
"Oh, I think not," Tirad contradicted him in an off-hand manner. "Run along, little humans. I have work to do."
As Tirad started walking forward once more, the click of weapons being readied echoed around the circle. "THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!" the human with the amplifier shouted.
"And I have given you all the warning I intended to," the Y'larat countered...and struck. There was a few seconds of silence in which the only sound was the clatter of pistols falling from lax hands onto the concrete before the onlookers started screaming in panic and fled. Tirad laughed as he passed through the circle of blankly staring police officers and continued on his way. From the directions he had coerced from the musician, it would be quite a walk to his target, but he had time. After all, he had quite adequately dealt with its guardians.
***
"I summon the Servants of the Gaurnim," intoned the male-alpha who stood at the center of the circular chamber. "I summon the Guardians of Order. Let them be gathered in the Hall of Ages as was established by our Founders. Let the Assembly be joined."
"As we have been summoned, so have we come," answered the Assembly. Nearly two hundred Gaurnim sat in simple chairs on the raised terraces around the mosaic circle where the summoner stood. "We come to share counsel," they continued in the Ritual of Opening. "We come to choose between paths. We come to dispense judgement. May the Founders guide us in all things."
The Gaurnim in the center bowed his head. Over his robes, he wore the Sigil of the Voice. On the day it had been entrusted to him, he had given up his own name, for Voice of the Assembly was to be the sum total of his identity. But today the sigil seemed like a heavy burden on his shoulders. As Voice, it was his place to both lead the Assembly and pronounce their judgements. And he knew that his next act could well be to condemn one he loved like a daughter. "Today, we gather to judge the actions of one of our number," he said. "Ba'aque stands accused of many crimes. Let her stand forth. Let the evidence be brought before us. May the Founders guide us."
The door to the Hall of Ages opened and Ba'aque strode down the aisle to the center escorted by two of the Guard. Her crest was carried carefully neutral. She stopped a few paces away from the Voice and avoided his gaze. The Voice's heart tore within him. Ba'aque had been his favorite protege, and to see her here in the judgement circle...
He sternly brought his thoughts under control. He had a duty to be performed, and personal considerations had no part in it.
"I come as summoned, Voice of the Assembly," Ba'aque said simply. "I come to answer accusations against me."
The Gaurnim nodded curtly and turned to the Assembly. "Who brings accusation against Ba'aque? Let him stand forth!"
"I bring accusation," snapped a voice from the lower tier of seats. Sker rose from his couch and made his halting, jerking way onto the center floor. "I bring accusation against Ba'aque of kidnapping, torture and violation of the Pact!"
"The Assembly hears you, Honorable Sker," the Voice acknowledged. "Honorable Ba'aque, do you hear the charges against you?"
"I hear them," she replied.
"How do you plead?"
Finally, Ba'aque raised her head to meet the Voice's eyes. The pause couldn't have been for more than a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity to him. "I plead..."
The door to the Hall of Ages burst open. Every head turned as one toward the disturbance as a young male-beta wearing the colors of the Guard slithered down the aisle. "What is the meaning of this?!" the Voice demanded, his suppressed anger beginning to leak through at the interruption.
"Forgive the intrusion," the young male said, his crest slicked-down practically flat against his skull. "It is for no small matter that I intrude on your deliberations. I bring most urgent news. Our scryers have detected Tirad on the Forbidden World!"
A wave of anxious murmuring swept the Assembly, peppered here and there by anger and vindication. The Voice scowled and clapped his hands. "Silence in the Assembly!" he shouted. As the noise died, he turned back. "Are they sure it is Tirad? Is he alone?"
The Guard nodded. "Yes, to both questions. They made quite certain of that."
"But if he is alone, it will not be for long!" Sker sneered. "You know that as well as I do, Voice of the Assembly. We should prepare to open gates for our army immediately."
The Voice slowly drew himself up, then slowly, deliberately turned to face the Assembly member. He said nothing. He only stared at Sker, silent rebuke plain on his face, until the old male-beta's crest lowered and he turned away.
"Bring the scryers to the Hall," the Voice instructed the Guard. "We will watch developments from here. Send word to the generals to make ready for attack, but we will NOT attack until we have a clearer violation of the Pact than the trespass of one renegade." He waved for Ba'aque's guards to approach. "The trial must wait until this matter is resolved. Return the Honorable Ba'aque to her cell."
"Your pardon, Voice of the Assembly," Ba'aque said sharply. "My trial is postponed, but am I already found guilty?"
The Voice spun to face her, stung by the sharp words and their implications. "You know better than that," he answered. "Your guilt or innocence is yet to be decided."
"Have I then been relieved of my position?" she asked. "If so, for what reason? And, if I have not been relieved, why am I being sent from the Assembly during an emergency? If my memory does not fail, all Assembly members must be present if not incapacitated during such events."
Another wave of murmuring swept the Hall, but the Voice felt his crest falling in embarrassment. She was right. Ba'aque had not yet been found guilty, which meant that she still had the right and responsibility to be here.
"My apologies, Honorable Ba'aque," he finally said, waving the Guards back. Sker favored him with a withering glare but remained silent. The Voice ignored him. In all things the laws and forms must be obeyed.
***
"Come on, Egon! Don't do this to me!"
Peter slapped the physicist's cheek gently. Getting no response, he shook him, then pinched him hard on the earlobe. All through it, Egon's blue eyes just stared blankly into space. This was Peter's second go around with him. He'd gone to Winston first, mostly to get him into a sitting position before something made him lose his balance and fall on his face, then, after getting no response, tried Ray. No dice.
"Goddamnit, guys. Wake up!" Peter shouted in frustration and fear. "Sleeping on the job is not in your contracts. You'd better believe I'm gonna remember this next time you haul my ass out of bed at oh-dark-thirty."
The only response was his own voice echoing back to him from the subway tunnel. Peter leaned over Egon once again and stared into his eyes. "Up and at 'em, Spengs," he said as he shook his friend again. "Or I'll tell Slimer that your mold collection makes a great pizza topping."
Still nothing. Peter took a steading breath as the panic that roiled inside threatened to surge out and paralyze him. Okay, Venkman. Get your shit together. You're the only one of the team functional right now, and you'd damn well better stay that way! Gently, he took the PKE meter from Egon's hand.
"I promise I won't break it, Spengs," he quipped. "Just need to borrow it to see how Fuzzy-Wuzzy put the whammy on you."
Peter pointed the meter at each of the fallen Ghostbusters in turn. It registered nothing but residuals. Pointing it at the two musicians produced the same result.
"All right, so whatever caused it probably isn't hanging around. Hope you don't mind me talking to myself here, guys. You're not in any shape to be my sounding boards, so I gotta make do." Peter put the meter down and crouched by Egon's side. "Okay, fact number one: the Y'larat's `turning into stone' ability is a more poetic than factual description. You're certainly sitting there like rocks, but don't you ever think I ever took you for granite." Peter smiled weakly. "Sorry about the pun, but I'm trying to keep from flying off the handle here. Moving right along. Fact number two: you guys got zapped and I didn't. Why..." Peter clapped a hand over his face as the answer came to him. "I'm an idiot! I just spent the last few minutes fighting to keep my shields up against something. I bet that something was what got you. Sorry, guys. I'm not at my most brilliant when you're scaring the crap out of me with a zombie act.
"Sooooo, this is an attack on the mind that can be repelled by psychic shielding. That probably makes the attack telepathic in nature. Son of a bitch!" Peter yelled. "So that's what Barbiezilla meant by `necessary'." Peter fell silent several seconds while he got himself back under control. He reached out and absently patted Egon's shoulder. "If you guys can hear me, I'm okay. Just getting more pissed off by the minute." He turned to face Egon again. "I guess we're about to find out if the little gift she gave me has a practical use in the field. 'Cause that's the only way I can think of to figure out what Chewbacca did to you.
"Sorry about this, Spengs, but I'm coming in."
Peter lowered his shields gingerly and reached out to touch Egon's face. An overwhelming sense of helplessness laced with fear flooded into him. Peter hardened his will and kept on looking. He saw where Egon's mind had been locked into a memory loop which essentially paralyzed him, trapping his mind in the past. The despair echoed into Peter's own thoughts, invoking the memory of his possession by the demon Watt and threatening to pull him into a memory loop of his own. With a frantic pull, Peter wrenched himself out of Egon's mind. Reaching out to Winston and then Ray, he found the same pattern.
"Okay, so that's how he zaps you," he said, shaken by the experience. "Well, as terrific as I am, I can't take Fuzzy-Wuzzy down solo. Well, if I could fight it off, maybe I can fix it. I hope."
Peter reached out and clasped Egon's face in both hands this time. As he made the connection, he fought his way down through the miasma of helplessness and hopelessness to the place where Egon's consciousness was running around in circles like a mouse trapped in a jar. It was like he was pushing his way upstream against a mudslide. Peter leaned in until their foreheads touched to strengthen the contact...
***
He was coming back. He always came back, and his parents wouldn't be coming tonight. Father said he was tired of all this attention seeking and told Mother they shouldn't encourage his behavior. Egon curled up with his back pressed against the headboard of his bed, staring at his closet door, as the sounds of his mother's footsteps faded down the hall.
He looked around at the compulsively neat room. Books, papers, journals, his latest experiment...all were in their proper places. Their order mocked the chaos his nights had become. He found himself looking for a hiding place, any hiding place, although he knew it would be futile.
It's just my imagination, he told himself over and over. It's just a mental construct of subconscious insecurities. It can't hurt me. It isn't real.
Egon repeated the things his father had told him over and over, but it didn't help. He knew the Bogeyman was coming, and, tonight, his mother wouldn't come when he screamed. The Bogeyman would stay and stay and stay and never leave!
The young boy pulled the soft, freshly laundered blankets up to his nose as the cracks around the closet door started to emit an eerie, green light. He wanted to pull the blankets over his head, but, every time he'd done it before, it had somehow made it worse. The doorknob turned and the closet door slowly creaked open. He was here. The towering form filled the doorway, casting a black shadow over the bed. Egon bit down on the blankets to stifle a cry and trembled violently as the creature stepped into the room. The Bogeyman didn't hurry. Why should he? After all, he had all night.
A cruel smile graced the apparition's face. "Heeeeelloooo," it crooned at him as it stepped into the room.
"And goodbye!"
Egon jumped at the sudden shout, and jumped again at the sharp CRACK that echoed through the room a second later, followed by the Bogeyman's pained bellow. The spell of fear broken, the boy looked on in amazement as his nemesis hopped around on one foot, clutching his other leg in his hands. Then Egon caught sight of another intruder, a dark-haired boy wearing worn blue jeans and a rumpled, grey t-shirt. He watched in amazement as the stranger hefted the baseball bat and struck again.
CRACK!
The Boogeyman screamed as his other knee was smashed and fell backwards into the open closet. The dark-haired boy slammed it shut and spun around with a cocky grin.
"Figures you'd get stuck here, Egon," he remarked as he tossed his improvised weapon into a corner.
Egon stared at the intruder and rubbed his eyes. How had he gotten here? Why hadn't his parents come to investigate all the commotion? And why did this young boy seem so familiar? As the boy walked up to the bed, Egon looked him over carefully. He'd never seen him before, but he knew him. His rescuer smirked at his confusion. "Come on, Spengs," he said. "Don't tell me you've forgotten me."
The nickname did it. "Peter?"
"The one and only," Peter said as he jumped up on the bed and grabbed Egon by the wrist. "Let's blow this pop stand."
The chill, damp smell of the New York subway intruded on his consciousness. Egon's eyes snapped open to stare directly into Peter's. He felt his friend's relief for a second before Peter pulled back both physically and telepathicly to give him a tired smile. "Welcome back, Egon," he said after a few panting breaths.
Egon shook his head to clear the remaining fogginess. "Peter...what happened?"
Peter was already pulling himself over to where Ray was crumpled on the floor. "Telepathic assault and memory loops, big guy," he said as he turned the engineer over on his back. "If you can't make one of your brilliant leaps from that, I'll give you the whole story after I wake the rest of you zombies up."
With that, he pressed his forehead against Ray's and fell silent.
***
"Mommy, wake up!"
Ray reached across the back of the car seat and grabbed his mother's shoulder again. He was scared. He was so very scared, and he didn't understand how his mother could sleep through all of this. He'd fallen asleep on the trip back from grandma's, but he'd woken up fast when he'd heard his daddy shouting and felt the jolt of the car when it stopped. The car horn was blaring so loud that it would have woken him up even if he'd been a naughty boy and stayed up late reading comic books all night before, but Mommy just sat there with her head bent on her chest. It occurred to Ray that she shouldn't be sleeping like that. She'd wake up with a sore neck.
Ray looked around the darkened car. The sun had been setting when they'd left grandma's house and now it was full dark. The road was also pretty far out in the county so it was really, really dark. No comforting glow of streetlights. No passing gleam of headlights from other cars making wavy patterns through the rain streaming down the windows. And the front part of the car was so twisted up that he couldn't see daddy at all.
"Daddy? Mommy won't wake up!"
No response from Daddy either. Ray knew he wasn't supposed to get out of the car by himself if they were stopped in a strange place, but he didn't know what else to do. It took three tries to get his seatbelt loose. Climbing to his knees on the seat, the five-year-old clumsily unlocked the door, but when he pulled the handle, the door remained stubbornly shut. He was trapped! Ray scrambled back and started shaking his mother's shoulder again, tears of fear now rolling down his face.
"Mommy! Wake up! I'm scared!"
The woman's head waggled like a rag doll's at the frantic shaking. Ray squinted at her. Her hair was wet. It was raining outside. Did the roof have a leak? No, it wasn't rain. Something dark which smelled funny was on her face. Maybe some of the oil leaked out of the engine and splashed on her. "Mommy?"
A glimmer of light through the driving rain caught his attention. Ray scrambled to the window as a single headlight made its way around the sharp curve in the road. Franticly, he waved. Yes! He saw them! As it slowed, he got a better look at the vehicle splashing through the water standing on the road. A motorcycle. Mommy didn't like people who rode motorcycles. They were "hell-yons", but maybe she wouldn't mind one right now if he wanted to help. Ray pounded on the window.
"Help! Get us out! Please get us out!"
The rider leaped off the bike and ran for the car, pulling his helmet off and letting it fall in the mud as he went. The tall teenager pulled at the back door. He scowled when the warped frame prevented it from opening and said a very dirty word. Ray hoped Mommy was too sound asleep to hear it.
"Get back!" the stranger snapped as he stooped to pick up his helmet, and Ray scrambled as far across the seat as he could. Shielding his face with a corner of his black leather jacket, the young man smashed the window with the helmet. Ray stifled a scream of fright at the sound of breaking and covered his head with his arms. The crashing died down to a faint tinkling as the stranger cleared the shattered glass from the frame. "Okay, Ray. Come on over."
He was too desperate to get out of the now scary car to consider his parents' admonitions not to go with strangers or to wonder how this stranger knew his name. Ray scrambled carefully over the glass-strewn seat. Strong hands grabbed him under his shoulders and lifted him clear. "Mommy! Something's wrong with Mommy," he yelled as the rain quickly soaked him to the skin. When the hell-yon didn't put him down immediately, Ray pounded his fist against the sodden, black leather jacket. "Get her out!"
"Oh, God. I'm so sorry you had to come back here, Ray."
Confused, Ray looked up into the teenager's face. The rain had already slicked the dark hair against his skull. The dripping front locks straggled down into his eyes. Those green, pain-filled eyes looked back at him. It was hard to tell with all the rain running down his face, but it looked like he was crying. Did hell-yons cry? Weren't they supposed to be too tough to cry?
"Ray," the stranger said gently. "It's me. It's Peter."
His voice. Ray knew that voice. Memory flowed back...and Ray broke down in tears. Mommy wasn't sleeping. She was dead. Daddy was dead. Peter hugged him close. "Come on, Ray," he murmured into his hair. "Time to go home."
At first, Ray thought the rain had followed him. Large drops splattered against Ray's face, mixing with his tears to flow down the sides of his face and into his hair. But, no, this rain wasn't cold. He blinked his eyes as the fog cleared from his vision. "Peter?"
The psychologist pulled back, digging a knuckle into his eyes. "I'm gonna roast that bastard over a slow fire when I get my hands on him," he growled. "Okay, time for Zed's wake-up call."
Ray levered himself up on one elbow and reached for Peter as if to keep him close, but he was so unsteady that he nearly fell over. From behind him, a hand grabbed his shoulder and steadied him. "Careful, Raymond."
"Egon?" Ray pulled himself up to sitting and flung his arms around Egon's neck. "Oh, Egon!" he sobbed, the grief over his parents' loss now as fresh as the day he lost them. Egon rubbed his back comfortingly and looked over Ray's shoulder at Peter, who was now leaning over Winston.
***
This was it. His turn to buy the farm.
As it was, he'd already bought a piece of it. It had been a routine patrol, or so they had thought until gunfire erupted from a clump of bushes just up a hill. Winston's squad had scattered for cover, and a bullet had come out of nowhere to make itself painfully at home in Winston's left thigh. From the sound of it, the rest of his buddies weren't fairing much better.
Now, hiding in the brush where he'd dragged himself, all he could do was wait. He'd lost his rifle when he'd taken the hit and wound up tumbling down the hillside. All he had left was his pistol, and that wouldn't do him much good against a pack of Viet Cong with AKs. His only chance was to lie low until things calmed down and his buddies could make pick up.
The gunfire died out. Winston lifted his head slightly, then quickly ducked it back down as he caught a glimpse of several Vietnamese guerrillas creeping down the hill. His ears strained to pick up the slightest sound to indicate where they were going. The rustling paused for a moment, then a burst of automatic weapons fire was followed by a choked scream. Winston recognized the voice, Corporal Collins. It was clear that the rest of the squad had either pulled back or been wiped out, and now the Cong were looking for survivors. He started praying as hard as he ever had before. The Cong were headed in his direction. He wasn't in good enough cover to hide from a through search and, at this point, moving would only bring them down on him faster. Winston tried to press himself deeper into the damp undergrowth. Sweat trickled into his eyes, stinging, but he didn't dare move to wipe it away.
This is it, he thought, his heart sinking. I'm sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. I promised you I'd make it home. I've never broken a promise, but I don't see how I'm gonna keep this one. Carefully, moving at a bare snail's pace, he inched his pistol out of its holster, determined to take a few with him before he bought it. Please, God. If you love any of us, end this stupid war before my brothers' numbers come up.
Winston held his breath as the footsteps came closer...and closer...
RAT-ATAT-ATAT!
Winston jumped as weapons fire burst out almost directly behind him. As the Cong dashed for cover, a camo-clad form jumped down beside him. Winston nearly put a slug in him before he realized that, under the camouflage paint, this soldier was definitely not Vietnamese.
"Whoa, buddy!" the grunt said with shock. "They say no good deed goes unpunished, but that's a bit much."
Winston suddenly recognized the man.
"Pete? What the hell are you doing here?"
"The same as always," Peter grinned from under the paint. "Saving your sorry ass."
The rustling of leaves changed into the rustling of newspaper caught near a ventilation shaft as the present faded back into existence, and Winston became aware of warm hands cupping his face and a forehead touching his own.
"Pete," he said. "I love you like a brother, but, if you kiss me, I'm gonna have to slug you."
"You're welcome, Zed," Peter responded dryly as his hands dropped and he sat back heavily on the concrete floor and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Aaaaahhh...Someone pass the Motrin."
Winston rose shakily to his knees and looked around. No sign of the Y'larat. Egon and Ray were crouched over the creature's victims, taking readings. Satisfied that the rest of the team was relatively safe, he turned back to Peter. "You okay, homeboy?" he asked, rubbing at his leg which still had a faint ache in it from the remembered injury. Peter shook his head hard and sat up.
"I've been better. Mind helping me over there? Looks like I've got another couple of people to pull out of the Way-Back Machine."
Pushing aside his questions for the moment, the former soldier hauled Peter to his feet and kept a grip on his elbow as they crossed the short distance separating them from the others. Egon and Ray looked up as they approached.
"Okay, Spengs," Peter drawled as he dropped down on the floor beside them. "You figure it out, or do I have to play lecturer?"
"Thanks to your hints, I believe I have accurately deduced the nature of the attack," Egon said with a thin smile. "Do you wish to check my notes?"
Peter waved negligently as he bent over one of the victims, the young woman who stared blankly at the ceiling. "You go ahead. I'll jump in if you get off track and herd you back with a cattle prod."
"Spill it, guys," Winston said. "What just happened?"
Ray looked up from the sandy-haired man in front of him. "We were trapped in a memory loop," he explained. "Seems like the Y'larat is at least partially telepathic. He forced us to relive memories where we were at our most helpless which resulted in practical paralysis." An excited grin bloomed on his face. "That must be why the Gaurnim kidnapped you, Peter! She must have known about this."
"One problem with that, Ray," the psychologist said sourly, continuing his examination. "If the Gaurnim are such aces with energy, she probably could have given me this little present without smashing my brain open with a psychic sledgehammer. And if she was trying to help me, why the hell didn't she just tell me? Or at least slip a copy of Telepathy For Dummies into my pocket." He shook his head and looked up at his friends. "So does this thing wear off or am I going to have to pull these two back to reality?"
Egon frowned down at his meter. "I don't believe this will be permanent. The residual PKE appears to be the maintaining factor in the fugue. When it fades, the victims should snap out of it."
"And how long will that be?" Winston asked. "I can't help but notice our bogey is long gone. We need info on what he wanted and where he's going. Our best place to start is with them."
"I would estimate they should regain consciousness within an hour," Egon said after a short pause.
"Too long," Peter concluded with a weary sigh. "Be right back, fellas."
The other three Ghostbusters waited quietly while Peter leaned down to touch foreheads with the woman. A few seconds later, she stiffened with a cry and shoved him away violently. Peter fell backwards, clutching his temples and groaning.
"Pete!" Winston almost shouted as he caught the younger man. Egon was on his other side a second later helping support him while Ray soothed the sobbing woman, casting worried looks over her head.
"What happened?" Egon asked. "None of us had this reaction."
"But you guys know me, Spengs," Peter growled as he shook his head again. "And that girl...let's just say she was in a very bad place. Had to force her out since she wouldn't come with me."
"That would be a problem," Winston said grimly.
"You said it, Zed. Okay, one more to go."
Fortunately, whatever memory trapped the fiddler was not as traumatic as the piper's. He came to gasping for air and looking around wildly.
"Careful, m'man," Winston said to the victim as Peter pulled back. "It's over. You're back."
"Thank...thank God!" the musician panted. His eyes widened as the woman's sobs registered. "Berni!"
"She's fine...relatively speaking," Egon said, helping Winston pull the young man up to a sitting position so that he could see his girlfriend huddled on the floor. He shook of their hands and scrambled over to gather her into his arms. As he sat there, rocking her, something clicked.
"Awww, hell! The spook!"
"That's right," Ray said. "We need you to tell us what happened here."
"The bleeding hell you do!" the man snapped. "You've got to get your asses going. That walking rug wanted one thing. He wanted to know how to get to your base!"
Egon blinked, then his eyes widened as he made the connection, and muttered something the other's didn't understand but sounded like a curse. With one fluid motion, he jumped to his feet and started running for the entrance. "Come on!" he shouted over his shoulder. Winston pulled Peter, who still looked a but shell shocked, to his feet and dragged him along. Ray turned back to look at the couple crouched on the floor. The sandy-haired man jerked his chin in the direction the other Ghostbusters were running. "Haul ass, boyo. We'll be okay."
Ray nodded reluctantly and sprinted to catch up with the others. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, ambulance crews were working among the fallen police officers. Several of them converged on the Ghostbusters when they saw them and started shouting questions. Egon and Ray pushed past them and ran for Ecto-1. Peter gave a resigned sigh and started toward the nearest victim, but Winston grabbed his shoulder and held him in place.
"It's not fatal, and it wears off," Winston said in response to the questions, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor. "It happened to us down there and we're fine. Just take care of them 'til they come 'round. Now get out of our way. We've got a demon to bust."
Peter turned a puzzled look on Winston as they pushed their way through the EMT's. "Okay, Zed. What was that all about."
"Just putting the kibosh on your budding Messiah complex," he said. "You're practically worn out from pulling five people back, and you want to tackle two dozen? If it won't kill them, they can wait. We need you on your feet. Besides..." Winston cocked his head and gave the psychologist a crooked smile. "You changed your mind about keeping this little thing quiet? We probably can with the two down there, but I saw at least three camera crews out there."
Peter swore under his breath and nodded. "You're right. Thanks, buddy."
"Guys! Come on!" Ray yelled, and they hurried the last few feet to the vehicle. Egon was already in the driver's seat and talking on the cellphone to Janine.
"After you lock down the containment unit, get the shield generator from the bunk room and take it down to the garage. Turn it on and stay in the field until we get back...I understand. We'll be there A.S.A.P."
He hung up the phone just as Peter and Winston slid into their seats and started the engine. The other men grabbed for their seatbelts as the physicist pulled off with the tire's squealing and sirens blaring.
"The Y'larat is on foot. Given the distance between here and headquarters, we should be able to get there ahead of him even taking an alternate route."
"If you don't wrap us around a lamppost on the way there, Egon," Winston yelped and clutched at the seat as Egon took a corner practically on two wheels. "Careful with Ecto! I take it the situation is `very bad'?"
"Monumentally bad," Egon corrected. "This is Tirad, the Y'larat who Schlitt informed us was trying to start a war between his people and the Gaurnim. It probably took every bit of power he had to open a gate large enough for one entity, and I imagine that it would be quite difficult to fight a war with only one soldier. He needs a way to bring more of his followers over to this side."
"Oh, no!" Ray groaned, comprehension dawning. "The containment unit!"
"Precisely."
Winston and Peter exchanged a dark look in the back seat. Winston contented himself with gritting his teeth, but Peter launched into a detailed and obscenely colorful description of Tirad's ancestry.
"Spengs," he finally said, winding down. "You and Ray have got to find a way to defuse that potential bomb we're living on top of. This is getting pretty damn monotonous."
***