(AN: Sorry for the wait… again… I sound like a broken record…)
"Dear Philip and Amy Tuddrussel, while you both have been improving greatly as future Time Squad officers, you have not participated in enough missions to graduate yet… What? What kind of crap is this?"
Amy sighed. "Well, Phil, obviously we have to work on more missions before we can become fully qualified Time Squad officers."
"But we've already been on twenty-four missions!" cried Philip, throwing the letter behind him. "I mean, come on! We're almost eighteen!"
"You mean, we're almost here legally?" said Amy with a dry laugh.
Philip shrugged. "I thought it would have been kinda cool to have been fully-fledged TS officers when we were only seventeen."
"Oh, what a privilege," muttered Amy. "Look, I'm guessing that it takes years to finish training. You should be lucky that we've done this much already. And now, it's almost supper time, and Larry wanted me to help him with the cooking, so--"
Philip snorted a bit. "Oh, won't Dad be so pleased to find out? You know what he thinks of sissy activities like cooking--"
Rolling her eyes, Amy said, "Hey, I don't really care. And why DOES he care if I cook, anyway? I mean, I am a girl. He just doesn't think MALES should cook because he thinks that WOMEN should--"
"No, he doesn't think that any offspring of his should be feminine," cut in Philip. "Even female offspring."
"Damn, is he sexist," mumbled Amy under her breath. "I'm going to the kitchen."
She turned around sharply and power-walked out of sight. Philip stood behind, pondering it for a bit. "She has a point… why would Dad care if his daughter does 'feminine' things, anyway?"
He scratched his head sadly. Amy was definitely not the type of person who could take orders from someone for very long. And neither was he, Philip thought to himself. Amy was someday soon going to break from the strain…and he probably would too. "And that's why we have to get out of here and be working on our own as soon as possible…" For balance, Philip leaned against the wall--the door.
The door? Philip turned around and looked at the door in shock. He hadn't known that there was a door here. He flipped open the access pad and saw that a password was required. "I wonder whose room this is?" he thought to himself. "If I knew, then maybe I could guess the password. But since I don't…"
Philip looked at the keypad, grinned playfully, and started punching buttons. "P… H… I… L… I… P… and for good measure, A… M… Y." He hit enter.
"Damn!" he yelled in sudden realization. What if this one was guarded if you typed in the wrong password? And that definitely was…
"Access approved," said a robotic voice. The door swung open.
"What the… our NAMES are the password?" cried Philip in confusion. He flipped on a light and looked around the small room, almost a closet, and saw mostly boxes, some photo albums, a rocking horse…
Philip gasped, feeling as though someone had punched him in the stomach. "That… that was MY rocking horse… Dad must have some of our old playthings and pictures of us as babies and he keeps them locked up here…" He stroked the horse's mane nostalgically.
He sat down next to a pile of boxes and opened one up. Baby clothes, blankets, rattles, small plush animals… Philip turned around behind him and grabbed a photo album, flipping it open. It seemed to be one from when he and Amy were about four years old… they were having a picnic, Philip was smearing jelly in Amy's face and Amy was screaming…
"Well, this proves what Amy and I always wondered about our parents… Dad remembered us, at least. I wonder if Mom does…"
"This recipe looks tasty--"
"Oh, no, definitely not that one!" cried Larry, dismissing it with a wave of his arm. "It's far too fattening."
"Like you would care," muttered Amy, setting the cookbook aside. "You don't eat."
Larry gave Amy an annoyed look. "How do you think your father has stayed in as good of shape as he has all this time? I've made sure I've been feeding him right!"
"And I'm sure he thanks you," sighed Amy.
At that moment, Buck barged in suddenly and loudly. "Hey, Lar, there's a light burned out in my second arsenal."
Larry threw up his hands in dispair. "Why must I always help EVERYONE on this blasted space ship?" However, he grabbed a lightbulb and left the room.
"Guess I'll cook supper by myself then," said Amy with a shrug.
"Hold it!" cried Buck. "Only prissy robots do the cooking around here."
Amy glared at her father. "You know, I happen to like cooking. Let me do it. You might be pleasantly surprised."
"Oh no, I don't think so!" yelled Buck. "No child of mine is gonna be a sissy, panty-waist--"
"I'm no child!" screamed Amy. And suddenly, with great force and rage, she grabbed an egg and smashed it right into Buck's face.
"YUCK! GET IT OFF!"
"I've had it." Amy stormed out of the kitchen, leaving her father to claw furiously at his face, vainly attempting to get the egg yolk off.
Amy tore into the main control room and grabbed a large book with the words "Time Squad Directory" on the front. "Maybe Mom will be easier to handle," she muttered. She flipped to a page, quickly read what was clearly some sort of coordinate or address, and stepped into a transporter, vanishing quickly out of sight.
"Officer Sternwell, here are those figures you requested."
Sheila Sternwell took some papers from her robot XJ5's hands. "Thanks." She quickly skimmed the papers and punched some numbers in a calculator. "It seems that our work has been 34% more productive than last year--"
A zap and a small shake interrupted her figuring. "Intruder," she muttered angrily, whipping out her laser.
"We shall vaporize the intruder," said XJ5.
The two spun around and aimed at the dark haired girl standing in the doorway. She grimaced at them.
"So, are you going to shoot me, Mom?"
Sheila lowered her gun in surprise. "Amy?"
"Yep." Amy's hands instinctively moved to her hips. "I bet you forgot all about me."
To Amy's surprise, Sheila suddenly tossed her laser aside. XJ5 looked confused… or as confused as he could look. "Officer Sternwell, who is this?"
"This is my daughter," said Sheila shortly. "Amy, where's Philip?"
"With Dad. I was with him too, but I couldn't put up with him anymore."
"I'm not surprised," said Sheila with a dry chuckle. "Nor am I surprised that you two decided to become TS officers. Since you're here, why don't you help me with this figuring?"
Amy bit her lip, utterly confused. After the initial shock, Sheila seemed totally unfazed of the fact that her daughter, whom she hadn't seen in more than twelve years, was with her.
"So, Mom," said Amy, half attempting to make conversation and half wanting to know why she even existed, "why did you marry someone like Dad, anyway?"
Sheila shrugged. "I'm not too sure about that one myself. We were young--I was twenty and your father was twenty-five. I thought I was in love, and I thought people in love never had any troubles."
Amy blinked. Strange how her mother could talk about something like that in such an emotionless, expressionless voice.
"And then, soon after, I got pregnant." Sheila wasn't trailing off nostalgically, she seemed to be telling Amy this only because she sensed that Amy wanted to know. "We hadn't specifically planned on having children when we married, but when we found out I was pregnant, we thought that a baby might be fun. And when I found out I was having twins, your father was of the opinion that two babies would be twice the fun. I, of course, knew that two would be twice the work."
"One baby is enough of a hassle," pointed out Amy.
Sheila nodded. "Philip came first, then you followed about eight minutes later. I had to start working part time to take care of you two."
Amy laughed darkly. "Work part time? Why not just quit your job?"
"I couldn't jeopardize my career just because I had children," said Sheila, as if it were obvious. Amy rolled her eyes; Sheila continued. "Your father rarely helped with taking care of you two. He only helped with the 'fun' stuff. We weren't really a good match, anyway. So we divorced."
"And then, why did you become our guardian if you didn't want us?" asked Amy angrily.
"Neither of us wanted you," said Sheila tactlessly. "We both wanted to get on with our lives and forget that we had ever been married. You and Philip would have just reminded us of something we would rather forget. The court just automatically assigned you two to me, since I was the mother and therefore, the more 'caring' one."
"Yeah, you proved them wrong, didn't you," muttered Amy darkly.
"Not that I wanted anything bad to happen to you," pointed out Sheila, still with the same emotionless voice. "But I couldn't keep you, so I thought for your own good, you should be adopted by someone who could."
"And then you forgot about us."
Sheila nodded. "For the most part."
Amy winced and stared at the floor. "Jeez, the way you put it, I should never have been born."
Shaking her head, Sheila said, "No, you shouldn't have."
Amy exhaled sadly. Well. You wouldn't expect your own mother to agree with that statement, now would you? Obviously her father didn't care about her, and, while she certainly hadn't expected her mother to greet her with open arms, she had hoped that her mother was maybe a bit less severe than what she had remembered. But, of course, her memory was right… as always…
(AN: I WISH I COULD THINK OF A TITLE! Oh, sorry… See you at the next chapter, whenever that may be… (evil laughter))
"Dear Philip and Amy Tuddrussel, while you both have been improving greatly as future Time Squad officers, you have not participated in enough missions to graduate yet… What? What kind of crap is this?"
Amy sighed. "Well, Phil, obviously we have to work on more missions before we can become fully qualified Time Squad officers."
"But we've already been on twenty-four missions!" cried Philip, throwing the letter behind him. "I mean, come on! We're almost eighteen!"
"You mean, we're almost here legally?" said Amy with a dry laugh.
Philip shrugged. "I thought it would have been kinda cool to have been fully-fledged TS officers when we were only seventeen."
"Oh, what a privilege," muttered Amy. "Look, I'm guessing that it takes years to finish training. You should be lucky that we've done this much already. And now, it's almost supper time, and Larry wanted me to help him with the cooking, so--"
Philip snorted a bit. "Oh, won't Dad be so pleased to find out? You know what he thinks of sissy activities like cooking--"
Rolling her eyes, Amy said, "Hey, I don't really care. And why DOES he care if I cook, anyway? I mean, I am a girl. He just doesn't think MALES should cook because he thinks that WOMEN should--"
"No, he doesn't think that any offspring of his should be feminine," cut in Philip. "Even female offspring."
"Damn, is he sexist," mumbled Amy under her breath. "I'm going to the kitchen."
She turned around sharply and power-walked out of sight. Philip stood behind, pondering it for a bit. "She has a point… why would Dad care if his daughter does 'feminine' things, anyway?"
He scratched his head sadly. Amy was definitely not the type of person who could take orders from someone for very long. And neither was he, Philip thought to himself. Amy was someday soon going to break from the strain…and he probably would too. "And that's why we have to get out of here and be working on our own as soon as possible…" For balance, Philip leaned against the wall--the door.
The door? Philip turned around and looked at the door in shock. He hadn't known that there was a door here. He flipped open the access pad and saw that a password was required. "I wonder whose room this is?" he thought to himself. "If I knew, then maybe I could guess the password. But since I don't…"
Philip looked at the keypad, grinned playfully, and started punching buttons. "P… H… I… L… I… P… and for good measure, A… M… Y." He hit enter.
"Damn!" he yelled in sudden realization. What if this one was guarded if you typed in the wrong password? And that definitely was…
"Access approved," said a robotic voice. The door swung open.
"What the… our NAMES are the password?" cried Philip in confusion. He flipped on a light and looked around the small room, almost a closet, and saw mostly boxes, some photo albums, a rocking horse…
Philip gasped, feeling as though someone had punched him in the stomach. "That… that was MY rocking horse… Dad must have some of our old playthings and pictures of us as babies and he keeps them locked up here…" He stroked the horse's mane nostalgically.
He sat down next to a pile of boxes and opened one up. Baby clothes, blankets, rattles, small plush animals… Philip turned around behind him and grabbed a photo album, flipping it open. It seemed to be one from when he and Amy were about four years old… they were having a picnic, Philip was smearing jelly in Amy's face and Amy was screaming…
"Well, this proves what Amy and I always wondered about our parents… Dad remembered us, at least. I wonder if Mom does…"
"This recipe looks tasty--"
"Oh, no, definitely not that one!" cried Larry, dismissing it with a wave of his arm. "It's far too fattening."
"Like you would care," muttered Amy, setting the cookbook aside. "You don't eat."
Larry gave Amy an annoyed look. "How do you think your father has stayed in as good of shape as he has all this time? I've made sure I've been feeding him right!"
"And I'm sure he thanks you," sighed Amy.
At that moment, Buck barged in suddenly and loudly. "Hey, Lar, there's a light burned out in my second arsenal."
Larry threw up his hands in dispair. "Why must I always help EVERYONE on this blasted space ship?" However, he grabbed a lightbulb and left the room.
"Guess I'll cook supper by myself then," said Amy with a shrug.
"Hold it!" cried Buck. "Only prissy robots do the cooking around here."
Amy glared at her father. "You know, I happen to like cooking. Let me do it. You might be pleasantly surprised."
"Oh no, I don't think so!" yelled Buck. "No child of mine is gonna be a sissy, panty-waist--"
"I'm no child!" screamed Amy. And suddenly, with great force and rage, she grabbed an egg and smashed it right into Buck's face.
"YUCK! GET IT OFF!"
"I've had it." Amy stormed out of the kitchen, leaving her father to claw furiously at his face, vainly attempting to get the egg yolk off.
Amy tore into the main control room and grabbed a large book with the words "Time Squad Directory" on the front. "Maybe Mom will be easier to handle," she muttered. She flipped to a page, quickly read what was clearly some sort of coordinate or address, and stepped into a transporter, vanishing quickly out of sight.
"Officer Sternwell, here are those figures you requested."
Sheila Sternwell took some papers from her robot XJ5's hands. "Thanks." She quickly skimmed the papers and punched some numbers in a calculator. "It seems that our work has been 34% more productive than last year--"
A zap and a small shake interrupted her figuring. "Intruder," she muttered angrily, whipping out her laser.
"We shall vaporize the intruder," said XJ5.
The two spun around and aimed at the dark haired girl standing in the doorway. She grimaced at them.
"So, are you going to shoot me, Mom?"
Sheila lowered her gun in surprise. "Amy?"
"Yep." Amy's hands instinctively moved to her hips. "I bet you forgot all about me."
To Amy's surprise, Sheila suddenly tossed her laser aside. XJ5 looked confused… or as confused as he could look. "Officer Sternwell, who is this?"
"This is my daughter," said Sheila shortly. "Amy, where's Philip?"
"With Dad. I was with him too, but I couldn't put up with him anymore."
"I'm not surprised," said Sheila with a dry chuckle. "Nor am I surprised that you two decided to become TS officers. Since you're here, why don't you help me with this figuring?"
Amy bit her lip, utterly confused. After the initial shock, Sheila seemed totally unfazed of the fact that her daughter, whom she hadn't seen in more than twelve years, was with her.
"So, Mom," said Amy, half attempting to make conversation and half wanting to know why she even existed, "why did you marry someone like Dad, anyway?"
Sheila shrugged. "I'm not too sure about that one myself. We were young--I was twenty and your father was twenty-five. I thought I was in love, and I thought people in love never had any troubles."
Amy blinked. Strange how her mother could talk about something like that in such an emotionless, expressionless voice.
"And then, soon after, I got pregnant." Sheila wasn't trailing off nostalgically, she seemed to be telling Amy this only because she sensed that Amy wanted to know. "We hadn't specifically planned on having children when we married, but when we found out I was pregnant, we thought that a baby might be fun. And when I found out I was having twins, your father was of the opinion that two babies would be twice the fun. I, of course, knew that two would be twice the work."
"One baby is enough of a hassle," pointed out Amy.
Sheila nodded. "Philip came first, then you followed about eight minutes later. I had to start working part time to take care of you two."
Amy laughed darkly. "Work part time? Why not just quit your job?"
"I couldn't jeopardize my career just because I had children," said Sheila, as if it were obvious. Amy rolled her eyes; Sheila continued. "Your father rarely helped with taking care of you two. He only helped with the 'fun' stuff. We weren't really a good match, anyway. So we divorced."
"And then, why did you become our guardian if you didn't want us?" asked Amy angrily.
"Neither of us wanted you," said Sheila tactlessly. "We both wanted to get on with our lives and forget that we had ever been married. You and Philip would have just reminded us of something we would rather forget. The court just automatically assigned you two to me, since I was the mother and therefore, the more 'caring' one."
"Yeah, you proved them wrong, didn't you," muttered Amy darkly.
"Not that I wanted anything bad to happen to you," pointed out Sheila, still with the same emotionless voice. "But I couldn't keep you, so I thought for your own good, you should be adopted by someone who could."
"And then you forgot about us."
Sheila nodded. "For the most part."
Amy winced and stared at the floor. "Jeez, the way you put it, I should never have been born."
Shaking her head, Sheila said, "No, you shouldn't have."
Amy exhaled sadly. Well. You wouldn't expect your own mother to agree with that statement, now would you? Obviously her father didn't care about her, and, while she certainly hadn't expected her mother to greet her with open arms, she had hoped that her mother was maybe a bit less severe than what she had remembered. But, of course, her memory was right… as always…
(AN: I WISH I COULD THINK OF A TITLE! Oh, sorry… See you at the next chapter, whenever that may be… (evil laughter))