(AN: It's been forever since I've seen a Time Squad episode, so I haven't been feeling very inspired. And of course, being extremely busy and having writer's block doesn't help. But you should know all that by now. (laughs) Enjoy chapter five!)
"Whoa… didja buy enough clothes?"
Amy glared at Otto. "You know, I've been through this with my father and my brother. No, I did not?"
Otto stared at the large pile of clothes that Amy had dumped on her bed. "Whatever you say."
He watched Amy gracefully fold her clothes. "So, what are missions like on this Time Squad deal, anyway?" she asked.
"Well…" Otto hesitated for a moment. "With your dad along, we sometimes get in a lot of trouble."
Amy laughed, which surprised Otto. "I believe it."
"You're not… offended?"
"I know my dad is an idiot," said Amy, still chuckling.
Otto still looked surprised. "But you are related to him."
"Well, duh, I know that. But from what I've been told, and from what I remember, I'm more like my mom."
"God help you," muttered Otto.
"You've met my mom?" Amy suddenly cried out, grabbing Otto by the shoulders.
"Uh… yeah. She's real… driven by her work, I guess you could say. I don't think she ever has fun, and she hardly ever smiles."
Amy let go of Otto and continued putting her clothes away, her black eyes growing tired and sad. "If you haven't noticed, I don't smile much either. Neither does Philip."
"Philip smiles sometimes," pointed out Otto. "More than you, anyway."
"Phil's a lot like Mom too," said Amy. "But he has his Dad moments."
The two remained silent for a while. Finally, Otto asked, "Why don't you ever smile?"
Amy shrugged, the emotional outburst gone. "My orphanage was a living hell."
Otto sat next to Amy on her bed, putting his arm around her shoulders. "So was mine, but I smile!"
"How long were you at your orphanage?" snapped Amy. "Philip and I were there for twelve years. You haven't even been AROUND for twelve years!"
"But--" Otto started to say.
"But nothing." Amy stood up and huffed out of her room, turning around just once to see Otto's large eyes behind his glasses gaze sadly at her.
A little ways down the hallway, Amy gasped in shock and realization. "Holy crap! That little kid has a crush on me!"
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"A mission!" cried Otto, tearing out of Amy's room.
"Where do we go?" asked Amy.
"Follow me!" said Otto. He lead Amy to a room filled with large computer and television screens. Larry was typing up something.
"They never give us a moment's rest," the robot lamented sadly. "I was planning to plant some impatiens in the garden today too!"
"You can do it later, Larry," said Otto reassuringly.
Buck burst into the room, yelling, "So what's the mission? I'm ready, after surviving Amy's shopping."
Philip was right behind, looking very much like a slightly smaller version of his father. "Yeah, any historical mission should be easy compared to that."
"Ha ha," said Amy sarcastically.
On the largest screen, there finally showed a picture of a nineteenth century man, with "Nathaniel Hawthorne, Massachusetts, 1848" next him.
"Nathaniel who?" asked Buck in confusion.
"Nathaniel Hawthorne, of course!" said Otto, who of course knew who he was. "He was--"
"Wait!" cried Larry. "I actually know, for once, so may I please tell?"
Otto shrugged. "I guess it's alright. I'll be explaining all the other times, I might as well give myself a break."
Larry, looking very pleased at temporarily playing Otto's role, said in a distinguished tone, "Nathaniel Hawthorne was the author of the classic novel The Scarlet Letter, which explores human sin and repentance."
"Oh," said Buck and Philip blankly.
"Honestly," said Amy hopelessly, "you two men should read more."
"I wonder what he's doing that doesn't agree with history," wondered Otto.
"Well," said Larry briskly, "I wouldn't suggest just standing here idly. We'd better go find out."
The five stood on the transporting platform. "This will be fun!" exclaimed Philip. "I've always wanted to get transported one hundred million years in the past!"
"Since when?" muttered Amy.
"It's gonna be a looonng mission," moaned Larry, punching some buttons and zapping them out of sight.
***
Philip looked around. "So this is Massachusetts in 1848? It's kinda dull, isn't it?"
Amy chose to ignore her brother. "So what exactly do we do on our missions? I mean, why are visiting Hawthorne?"
"Well," said Larry, "since we were sent here, Hawthorne apparently isn't doing something that he should be, or maybe he is doing something that he shouldn't. Either way, we have to find him and set him straight with history."
"But how are we going to find him?" asked Philip. "This town doesn't look terribly large, but we hardly even know what he looks like."
Buck pointed to a large building. "Maybe we could try in there--'Hawthorne's Writing and Publishing Company'."
Amy nodded. "That would be a good idea."
Otto bit his lip in confusion. "Writing and publishing? He's obviously in the right career. I wonder what he's doing wrong?"
"Well, we're gonna find out!" cried Buck. He barged into the building, pointed a blaster at a man sitting at a desk right inside the door, and bellowed, "Take me to your leader!"
The man stared.
The others had managed to catch up. "What he means," said Otto, "is that we're trying to find a Mr. Nathaniel Hawthorne. Is he your boss?"
The man trembled, and finally stammered out, "I-I'm Nathaniel H-Hawthorne. But please don't harm me!"
Larry pulled Buck's blaster down. "Geez, he seems like a bigger wimp than you are, Lar."
Otto looked at Hawthorne curiously. "Mr. Hawthorne, why are you sitting at the secretary's desk? Aren't you a writer?"
~That could be our problem,~ thought Amy.
Hawthorne looked a little angry and humiliated. "Of course I'm a writer!"
~Maybe not,~ thought Amy.
Philip spoke up. "Then how come you're your own secretary?"
Hawthorne sighed sadly. "I can't get anyone to work for me. To tell you the truth, business has been bad lately. No one wants to work for someone who can't pay them!"
"Why can't you work for yourself?" asked Amy. "You're a writer. Can't you write the material, and… set the type and print it yourself?"
"Well, I could," admitted Hawthorne, "if my dream wasn't so big!"
Buck rolled his eyes. "And just what do you mean by that?"
Hawthorne leaped up on his desk, his eyes glowing with excitement. "I've always dreamt of writing a best selling…"
Everyone waited expectantly.
"…COOKBOOK!"
Silence.
"Cookbook?" Otto finally asked.
"That's right!" said Hawthorne happily. His face fell. "I've never exactly been the best cook…but it's a good thing I have all my grandmother's recipes in the attic! Come and see them!"
Hawthorne led them up the stairs. "Why do you want to write a cookbook if you can't cook?" Larry asked.
"I want to help people," said Hawthorne, his eyes glowing again. "Think of all the bellies I could fill with these wonderful recipes!"
"Some people are destined to write cookbooks, but not you!" said Otto. "You're destined to fill peoples' MINDS. You're destined to change the way people think. You're destined to write a great American novel!"
"That doesn't sound too bad," admitted Hawthorne, "…but I'd rather write a cookbook." They were at the attic now. Hawthorne opened the door on the ceiling and climbed up the ladder. "This building has been in the family for years," he said. "My grandmother stored all of her possessions up here. And there's a lot more up here too. This building was built in 1678, you know."
The six managed to get into the attic and look around at all the things stored. "Wow," said Philip. "Just think of bringing little kids up here. They'd have a blast!"
Hawthorne began rummaging through some boxes. "I know the recipes are here somewhere…"
Ignoring Hawthorne for awhile, the other five began browsing as well. Philip climbed up to the top of one of the shelves. "There a really old looking box up here," he said. "Catch, Amy!" He dropped a rather small box to the ground. Amy caught it and opened it.
Inside was some old parchment with what looked like a short story written on it, and an embroidered letter A. It was bright red, with beautiful exquisite embroidery along the sides. Even in the rather dark attic, the letter shined.
Philip leaped off the shelf. "Hey, it's an A for Amy!" he said.
Larry and Otto stared at the A. "The Scarlet Letter," they both breathed in awe.
Hawthorne, noticing the commotion, picked up the paper and unfolded it. "Here follows the account of Hester Prynne…" His voice trailed off.
Buck was rather unimpressed, and Larry and Otto were still in awe, understanding the letter's significance. Philip had no clue, however. He pinned the letter on Amy's breast. "There you go, Amy. Now everyone knows what letter your name starts with!"
"Oh joy," muttered Amy.
"…thus her punishment was to wear the scarlet letter A on her breast for the rest of her life." Hawthorne looked up at Amy, who was wearing the letter and standing in the beam of light coming in from the window, looking haughty and indifferent. "Wow," he whispered. "That must be just how Hester Prynne looked…"
No one said anything for a while. Finally Hawthorne grabbed the letter off of Amy. "I think," he said, "that I would much rather write a story about Hester Prynne than a cookbook."
Larry grinned. "Mission accomplished."
Philip looked confused. "What? Already? But we didn't even do anything!"
Otto laughed. "You did more than you know, Philip. If you hadn't have found that letter, Hawthorne would be still wanting to write a cookbook!"
Buck looked a little disappointed too, since there hadn't been any fighting. "Whatever. Can we go home now?"
"Certainly," said Larry, opening the panel on his arm and pushing in buttons.
"You know, Philip, I actually HAVE read The Scarlet Letter," said Amy to her brother. "And the A doesn't stand for Amy. It stands for Adultery."
"Whoa, really?" cried Philip. "I ought to read that book!"
The five were zapped back to their own time period.
(AN: Once again, that was not the end. Heh. Thanks for reading and reviewing, see you next chapter, and apologizes to Nathaniel Hawthorne.)
"Whoa… didja buy enough clothes?"
Amy glared at Otto. "You know, I've been through this with my father and my brother. No, I did not?"
Otto stared at the large pile of clothes that Amy had dumped on her bed. "Whatever you say."
He watched Amy gracefully fold her clothes. "So, what are missions like on this Time Squad deal, anyway?" she asked.
"Well…" Otto hesitated for a moment. "With your dad along, we sometimes get in a lot of trouble."
Amy laughed, which surprised Otto. "I believe it."
"You're not… offended?"
"I know my dad is an idiot," said Amy, still chuckling.
Otto still looked surprised. "But you are related to him."
"Well, duh, I know that. But from what I've been told, and from what I remember, I'm more like my mom."
"God help you," muttered Otto.
"You've met my mom?" Amy suddenly cried out, grabbing Otto by the shoulders.
"Uh… yeah. She's real… driven by her work, I guess you could say. I don't think she ever has fun, and she hardly ever smiles."
Amy let go of Otto and continued putting her clothes away, her black eyes growing tired and sad. "If you haven't noticed, I don't smile much either. Neither does Philip."
"Philip smiles sometimes," pointed out Otto. "More than you, anyway."
"Phil's a lot like Mom too," said Amy. "But he has his Dad moments."
The two remained silent for a while. Finally, Otto asked, "Why don't you ever smile?"
Amy shrugged, the emotional outburst gone. "My orphanage was a living hell."
Otto sat next to Amy on her bed, putting his arm around her shoulders. "So was mine, but I smile!"
"How long were you at your orphanage?" snapped Amy. "Philip and I were there for twelve years. You haven't even been AROUND for twelve years!"
"But--" Otto started to say.
"But nothing." Amy stood up and huffed out of her room, turning around just once to see Otto's large eyes behind his glasses gaze sadly at her.
A little ways down the hallway, Amy gasped in shock and realization. "Holy crap! That little kid has a crush on me!"
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"A mission!" cried Otto, tearing out of Amy's room.
"Where do we go?" asked Amy.
"Follow me!" said Otto. He lead Amy to a room filled with large computer and television screens. Larry was typing up something.
"They never give us a moment's rest," the robot lamented sadly. "I was planning to plant some impatiens in the garden today too!"
"You can do it later, Larry," said Otto reassuringly.
Buck burst into the room, yelling, "So what's the mission? I'm ready, after surviving Amy's shopping."
Philip was right behind, looking very much like a slightly smaller version of his father. "Yeah, any historical mission should be easy compared to that."
"Ha ha," said Amy sarcastically.
On the largest screen, there finally showed a picture of a nineteenth century man, with "Nathaniel Hawthorne, Massachusetts, 1848" next him.
"Nathaniel who?" asked Buck in confusion.
"Nathaniel Hawthorne, of course!" said Otto, who of course knew who he was. "He was--"
"Wait!" cried Larry. "I actually know, for once, so may I please tell?"
Otto shrugged. "I guess it's alright. I'll be explaining all the other times, I might as well give myself a break."
Larry, looking very pleased at temporarily playing Otto's role, said in a distinguished tone, "Nathaniel Hawthorne was the author of the classic novel The Scarlet Letter, which explores human sin and repentance."
"Oh," said Buck and Philip blankly.
"Honestly," said Amy hopelessly, "you two men should read more."
"I wonder what he's doing that doesn't agree with history," wondered Otto.
"Well," said Larry briskly, "I wouldn't suggest just standing here idly. We'd better go find out."
The five stood on the transporting platform. "This will be fun!" exclaimed Philip. "I've always wanted to get transported one hundred million years in the past!"
"Since when?" muttered Amy.
"It's gonna be a looonng mission," moaned Larry, punching some buttons and zapping them out of sight.
***
Philip looked around. "So this is Massachusetts in 1848? It's kinda dull, isn't it?"
Amy chose to ignore her brother. "So what exactly do we do on our missions? I mean, why are visiting Hawthorne?"
"Well," said Larry, "since we were sent here, Hawthorne apparently isn't doing something that he should be, or maybe he is doing something that he shouldn't. Either way, we have to find him and set him straight with history."
"But how are we going to find him?" asked Philip. "This town doesn't look terribly large, but we hardly even know what he looks like."
Buck pointed to a large building. "Maybe we could try in there--'Hawthorne's Writing and Publishing Company'."
Amy nodded. "That would be a good idea."
Otto bit his lip in confusion. "Writing and publishing? He's obviously in the right career. I wonder what he's doing wrong?"
"Well, we're gonna find out!" cried Buck. He barged into the building, pointed a blaster at a man sitting at a desk right inside the door, and bellowed, "Take me to your leader!"
The man stared.
The others had managed to catch up. "What he means," said Otto, "is that we're trying to find a Mr. Nathaniel Hawthorne. Is he your boss?"
The man trembled, and finally stammered out, "I-I'm Nathaniel H-Hawthorne. But please don't harm me!"
Larry pulled Buck's blaster down. "Geez, he seems like a bigger wimp than you are, Lar."
Otto looked at Hawthorne curiously. "Mr. Hawthorne, why are you sitting at the secretary's desk? Aren't you a writer?"
~That could be our problem,~ thought Amy.
Hawthorne looked a little angry and humiliated. "Of course I'm a writer!"
~Maybe not,~ thought Amy.
Philip spoke up. "Then how come you're your own secretary?"
Hawthorne sighed sadly. "I can't get anyone to work for me. To tell you the truth, business has been bad lately. No one wants to work for someone who can't pay them!"
"Why can't you work for yourself?" asked Amy. "You're a writer. Can't you write the material, and… set the type and print it yourself?"
"Well, I could," admitted Hawthorne, "if my dream wasn't so big!"
Buck rolled his eyes. "And just what do you mean by that?"
Hawthorne leaped up on his desk, his eyes glowing with excitement. "I've always dreamt of writing a best selling…"
Everyone waited expectantly.
"…COOKBOOK!"
Silence.
"Cookbook?" Otto finally asked.
"That's right!" said Hawthorne happily. His face fell. "I've never exactly been the best cook…but it's a good thing I have all my grandmother's recipes in the attic! Come and see them!"
Hawthorne led them up the stairs. "Why do you want to write a cookbook if you can't cook?" Larry asked.
"I want to help people," said Hawthorne, his eyes glowing again. "Think of all the bellies I could fill with these wonderful recipes!"
"Some people are destined to write cookbooks, but not you!" said Otto. "You're destined to fill peoples' MINDS. You're destined to change the way people think. You're destined to write a great American novel!"
"That doesn't sound too bad," admitted Hawthorne, "…but I'd rather write a cookbook." They were at the attic now. Hawthorne opened the door on the ceiling and climbed up the ladder. "This building has been in the family for years," he said. "My grandmother stored all of her possessions up here. And there's a lot more up here too. This building was built in 1678, you know."
The six managed to get into the attic and look around at all the things stored. "Wow," said Philip. "Just think of bringing little kids up here. They'd have a blast!"
Hawthorne began rummaging through some boxes. "I know the recipes are here somewhere…"
Ignoring Hawthorne for awhile, the other five began browsing as well. Philip climbed up to the top of one of the shelves. "There a really old looking box up here," he said. "Catch, Amy!" He dropped a rather small box to the ground. Amy caught it and opened it.
Inside was some old parchment with what looked like a short story written on it, and an embroidered letter A. It was bright red, with beautiful exquisite embroidery along the sides. Even in the rather dark attic, the letter shined.
Philip leaped off the shelf. "Hey, it's an A for Amy!" he said.
Larry and Otto stared at the A. "The Scarlet Letter," they both breathed in awe.
Hawthorne, noticing the commotion, picked up the paper and unfolded it. "Here follows the account of Hester Prynne…" His voice trailed off.
Buck was rather unimpressed, and Larry and Otto were still in awe, understanding the letter's significance. Philip had no clue, however. He pinned the letter on Amy's breast. "There you go, Amy. Now everyone knows what letter your name starts with!"
"Oh joy," muttered Amy.
"…thus her punishment was to wear the scarlet letter A on her breast for the rest of her life." Hawthorne looked up at Amy, who was wearing the letter and standing in the beam of light coming in from the window, looking haughty and indifferent. "Wow," he whispered. "That must be just how Hester Prynne looked…"
No one said anything for a while. Finally Hawthorne grabbed the letter off of Amy. "I think," he said, "that I would much rather write a story about Hester Prynne than a cookbook."
Larry grinned. "Mission accomplished."
Philip looked confused. "What? Already? But we didn't even do anything!"
Otto laughed. "You did more than you know, Philip. If you hadn't have found that letter, Hawthorne would be still wanting to write a cookbook!"
Buck looked a little disappointed too, since there hadn't been any fighting. "Whatever. Can we go home now?"
"Certainly," said Larry, opening the panel on his arm and pushing in buttons.
"You know, Philip, I actually HAVE read The Scarlet Letter," said Amy to her brother. "And the A doesn't stand for Amy. It stands for Adultery."
"Whoa, really?" cried Philip. "I ought to read that book!"
The five were zapped back to their own time period.
(AN: Once again, that was not the end. Heh. Thanks for reading and reviewing, see you next chapter, and apologizes to Nathaniel Hawthorne.)