Episode 5

Vinnie put his hand out and stopped one of the hunched figures in a white coat. As it turned to peer at him, he swallowed hard, wishing he hadn't done that. It was completely furless, pink wrinkled skin hanging baggy on its frame. A blunt muzzle ended in a pink nose, and teeth that were far too large for its mouth. Tiny, stunted circular ears hugged the spotted skull. It squealed at him, an ear-piercing sound. He jumped back and ran over to Modo, letting the deformed thing get back to its task.

"What's up, bro?" Modo rumbled, glancing down at Vinnie.

"I'm gettin' the creeps," Vinnie answered softly. "These things are uglier than a Plutarkian on steroids."

Modo only nodded.

"Guys, come check this out," Throttle called them over to the far wall. He crouched before a set of large metal coils, between which hung a ovular frame of metal tubing. "Look familiar?"

"The… time machine?" Modo ventured. He stepped forward to examine the controls.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" a hysterical shriek rose behind them. Modo flinched and jumped back, turning to look. Limburger hung suspended on the wall, writhing, a terrified expression painted on the mask. "Please, don't touch it. Three years! I can almost fix this mess!"

Throttle rose from his crouch, and stalked to the suspended piscine. "Fix what mess?"
The fish was crying, blubbering. "I did this. I got caught. I caused the paradox by facing myself. That's why you're here. We have to fix this…"

"How do we fix it?" Rimfire pushed. He had just finished constructing a busy loop to play back if anyone called on the vidscreen.

"I have to stop myself, push me back through the portal before I kill them," Limburger whined.

"Wouldn't that just cause another para-whatizit?" Vinnie inquired.

Limburger's eyes widened. "Oh," was all he found breath to say.

"What wouldn't cause a paradox?" Throttle's query was next, as he stepped out of the way, allowing Rimfire to exit the half-ring they formed.

"Anyone who can't meet themselves."

Vinnie sighed. "I'm still confused."

Modo stroked his muzzle thoughtfully.

"Oh, a paradox, a paradox, a most ingenious paradox," Limburger sing-songed softly as he watched the gathered Mice. "We've quips and quibbles heard in flocks, but none to beat this paradox!"

"Would you shut up?" Rimfire growled, from across the room. He had joined Steel buy a set of giant metal doors. "Think they can be opened."

"Anything can be opened," Steel grunted, running her fingers along the seam. "Did everything go well?"

"Yeah, the humes got our delivery. The guys said they didn't seem happy about it." Rimfire sighed, and began to look around for a set of controls. "So, what's the story with that?" He jerked his head backwards, indicating the purple fish.

"I think he's a clone," Steel muttered. "But he lost his marbles." She flexed her hands and rolled her shoulders. "Doors magnetized. Nothing I can't pry open."

"Why would Limburger have a clone?" Rimfire backed away, giving her enough room to work.

"Same reason he wants to clone us. When we die, we can be replaced. Expendable commodity." Steel dug her fingers into the center seam, and glanced around. "Hey! Gruesome! Let's test your bionics out!"

Modo turned with a start. He was really starting to dislike that nickname. Flexing his fingers, the hydraulics whined in protest. "Oh, mama," he muttered, as he crossed the room. One of the deformed Mouse-clones skittered before him, chattering its teeth in a primitive approximation of scolding. Side-stepping so he wouldn't have to touch it, the giant gray Mouse took up position on the opposite side of the door. "Ready when you are, ma'am."

"On three, and don't ever call me 'ma'am' again," Steel hissed. There was something in her voice that prickled the fur on the back of his neck. "Ready? One… two… three!"

Together, they both heaved. Rimfire winced as something popped loudly. Modo ground his teeth, his back and arms flexing taut, and straining on the door. Steel's eyes were closed; her features oddly serene. But the ripple of musculature under her fur showed that she pulled just as hard. With a terrible grinding hiss, the doors slowly began to part. When there was just enough room for a Mouse to fit through, Rimfire called a halt.

Both Modo and Steel released the door edges with a gasp, and both hunched themselves over. With his hands on his knees, Modo puffed, fighting to catch his breath. Steel coughed, and straightened, opening up her ribcage by squaring her shoulders back. Then she grinned, and chuckled dryly.

"Nicely done, big guy." As she walked past him, she patted his shoulder. Modo felt oddly accomplished for the compliment. Tucking her fingers around her front teeth, Steel gave a sharp whistle, catching the others attention. "Let's see what we have behind Door Number One!"

Throttle and Vinnie trotted over to join them.

"So? Do you believe him?" Vinnie was in the process of asking as they drew to a halt. "I mean, could that Fish-Lips be our Fish-Lips?" Throttle shook his head, trying to end the conversation, but the younger Mouse pressed on. "If he's really trying to reconstruct that thing, why don't we help him? Get us back to our Chicago? I'm sick of this creeped out mess."

"Vinnie." Throttle's tone warned, his eyes cut sharp over the rim of his glasses.

The white Mouse's mouth opened again, but snapped shut as he caught the glare. "Okay, shutting up now," he muttered, shuffling behind his bros.

"Guys," Rimfire's voice was shaky, threatening to break. "Guys, you should really see this." Rimfire gestured to the gap in the door. "I think we're up Kidd's Creek without a paddle, here."

The room was easily as large as a football field. The door opened onto a catwalk, suspended ten feet above the working floor. Both humans and the hairless mice bustled around the floor, in white lab coats with clipboards tucked under their arms. Perhaps most horrifying of all, there were more than a hundred capsules. Each was easily twice as tall as a human, filled with some vile green substance, and ringed by a bank of controls that made a space station look obsolete.

Modo turned away first, as soon as he realized just what was suspended within the murky green liquid. Bodies. People. Mice. All in various stages of development. Some were no more than microscopic fetuses; while others were full grown Mice, floating in a womb of green. It churned his stomach. Throttle glanced back at him, and gave him a pat.

"You okay, big guy?" he asked, softly.

Modo only nodded, lifting his gaze to stare at the suspended fish in the corner. Without a sound, he moved across the room, lifting a fist to the Plutarkian's face. "If you help us, we'll help you."

"That's what the big black one said!" Limburger spat, almost hysterically. "She said she'd get me Karbunkle! I need to finish the machine!"

Modo blinked, and tried, very hard, to keep his composure. He lifted his hand to wipe the spit from his fur. Something brushed against him, and was gone in the span of a heartbeat. But when he opened his eye, Steel blocked his view of Limburger.

"Here's the deal, lard butt," she snarled. "We get you, it and Karbunkle, all to someplace safe; you finish it, you fix this. You tell us how to destroy every last shred of the cloning tech, and no one looks back. Sound good to you?"

"Wait just a minute," Throttle grabbed Steel by the bicep, and gave her a tug away from the Plutarkian. "Do you know what's going on?"

She tensed her arm, breaking the beige's grip on her. "I'm not a rocket scientist, but I'm not stupid." She turned and glanced at Modo. "No Mouse knew that we tried to off Camembert, not even Carbine. Even half the Plutarkian fleet was in the dark about the assassination attempt. There was no way you could have known." She turned then, and gestured to Limburger. "He's obviously cracked his walnut, but he definately knows who you three are. The Man Upstairs doesn't. All this talk about time machines… Trust me, I can put two and two together."

"She's right," Limburger chimed in. "She's right! We can fix it. They can go back to being dead; I can get my ass handed to me every day of my miserable myopic existence, and you three can go back to root beer and hot dogs, and that pretty little human of yours waiting on your every whim!"

Five Mice turned on the Plutarkian at once. "Would you shut up?"

Silence hovered over the room. A lab-Mouse chattered at them from the corner. Steel's blue-eyed gaze locked on it, cowing it back into silence. She rubbed her shoulders, jangling her bells as she worked out a crick in her neck. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Vinnie asked, almost afraid to break the silence.

"Are Rico and I…" Steel seemed to fear the question more than the answer.

"Dead?" Modo finished for her. He nodded a moment after. "Camembert put you up for public execution. You got a hero's burial when the Plutarkians left Mars."

Turning from the other Mice, she pressed her forehead against the wall. "Well, that settles it then," she said finally, scowling as she looked up. "We blow this place sky high." She bent over to retrieve the small pack of explosives that Rimfire brought down with him. "But only when that thing is up and running." She reached up and patted the plastic mask stretched over the fish face. "My sister and I will fix your little problem."

"Steel?" Rimfire reached out. "Are you sure?"

She shrugged. "It's our only choice right?" Her hand hovered over the release switch on the console. "Someone who can't meet themselves. Isn't that what you said?"

"To avoid a lovely, little paradox like this one?" Limburger tried to offer lightly.

"If we're dead, we can't meet ourselves," Steel finished, jabbing a thumb onto the release button. The fish yelped as he found himself free falling. With a thunderous crash, his bulk landed on the floor.

"Where have you been!" Carbine demanded leaning up into Steel's face. "You go AWOL for ten hours and you expect to get off lightly?"

Throttle was impressed. Steel took the verbal abuse without a single flinch. Her gaze was fixed blankly on a point somewhere beyond the back of Carbine's skull. The commander's tirade had carried on longer than ever before, and she had hit each of them in turn. Steel emulated her namesake as she refused to bend under the stress.

"You are all confined to quarters until further notice!" Carbine pointed, but no one looked away. "Torque and Lug will make sure you don't leave." She looked about, casting her dark gaze from side to side, as if she dared anyone to step forward with an argument. "Dismissed."

One by one, they began to fall out; Modo and Vinnie immediately gravitating to Throttle. Steel remained, silent and stoic, with her chin held high. Rimfire's ears drooped even further as Carbine took him by the arm.

"Poor kid," Modo muttered, shaking his head sadly. "Too bad he's gotta take the fall for all this."

"This puts a damper on smuggling that thing out of the compound," Throttle sighed.

"Dude, she's still just standin' there," Vinnie breathed, staring across the room.

"What do you think you'd be doing if you just found you that you're supposed to be dead?" Modo gave the white Mouse a push to punctuate the question. With a dodge and weave, Vinnie tried to avoid it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Throttle saw Steel finally move. She shook herself out of the stupor and glanced around, seeing the interior of the common room for the first time. He joined her as she flopped heavily onto the couch.

"Somethin' on your mind?" he asked, calmly removing his glasses to clean them on his vest. A small chuckle came as his only answer. "Everything will work out, you know. When we see her again, she'll be fine."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Steel corrected him quietly.

"Then wh-" Throttle was careful not to glance in her direction. Instead, he watched as Vinnie and Modo rough-housed on the floor.

"I don't want to talk about it," Steel growled, and rose as Rimfire broke away from Carbine's grip. The black Mouse disappeared into her room, and the hydraulic door hissed closed. Throttle watched as Rimfire disappeared into his room as well, with much the same anger.

Carbine didn't spare him a glance as she turned and exited into the hall. Torque and Lug both followed her out, taking up positions on either side of the door. As the egress hissed shut, Throttle was left alone with his thoughts, and his bros' forced laughter.

"Give?" Modo asked the smaller Mouse pinned beneath his cybernetic arm.

"That's cheatin'!" Vinnie cried, trying to laugh as Modo leaned his weight onto the kid's shoulder.

Throttle laced his fingers together, and laid his muzzle thoughtfully in the cradle they formed. This was such a mess.

"How did you lose her?" the bellow shook the windows of his office. Limburger sighed heavily at the screen before him, dabbing at his forehead with a kerchief. The action was completely superficial, as he didn't sweat, though the rubber face mask was stifling hot. "All I ask is for you to perform a simple task, and this is the thanks I get?" He reached for his bowl of mealworms, the tiny annelids squirming about like living spaghetti.

" Sh-she destroyed it, " the other Limburger simpered, wringing his hands together. The face on the screen seemed even more plastic than his own. " The conniving little cunt destroyed it. "

If he squinted just right, he could see the dismantled ruins in the background. Seems that his other half's grand scheme to step back in time, had yet again failed. "Now, now," Limburger scolded gently, waggling a fist full of worms at the screen. "I told you not to leave your toys in the open. But that doesn't explain how she got away from you."

The more he tried to sound calm, the harder it became for him to stare at himself on the screen. It was worse than a reflection: he was looking at his future. In six years, Limburger had nothing to look forward to. He was slimmer, less stinky; the symbiotic algae that kept Plutarkian scales and skin moist had begun to die. Limburger's future looked as bleak as the landscape of Earth. He yawned, silently, as his other self tried to explain the situation.

Was I ever that bad? The younger Limburger wondered. Did I toady, and whine? Cry and simper like an idiot?

" She broke away! Her sedation wore off quickly! And the strength; she is true perfection! " The Plutarkian on the screen gestured wildly, making grand bouncing gestures. The fat wattles of flesh that should have been triceps waggled comically in the air.

A small light in the corner of the screen began to flash, alerting young Limburger that he had another call waiting. "Did you at least get a cell sample?" he asked, covering the little LED with his thumb. It was most likely only Carbine reporting, and she would be content to leave a video message.

" Cell sample, yes; but how much of it has been altered from her original coding? " The elder Plutarkian gained lucidity as he centered on his work. The younger only smiled, raising the double chins that his double chins had. At least he had one thing to look forward to in his future: a hidden knack for science.

The light at the corner of his screen began to flash, red this time. Limburger's brow furrowed, as he removed his thumb. "Keep me posted," he snapped before cutting off the feed to the dungeon. He paused, staring at the flashing red light for a few moments. His curiosity stewed through a few names as he tried to name who would be paging him so urgently. Finally, he punched the 'receive' button, and leaned forward slightly.

"Yes?" he asked to the stern figure upon the other end. A pair of dish shaped ears greeted him stoically, and Limburger's face split like a ripe pea into a smile. "My dear boy, what can I do for you?"

"Our deal still stands?" the Mouse on the screen demanded.

"Of course, my boy, of course. Now, what is my beloved Alpha Squad up to?"

Tessa Clintock made it through life the hard way. When the Plutarkian's came out of hiding, she had been one of the first to try and stand against them. But in doing so, she had been one of the first forced into slave labor. Tessa sympathized with the Martian Mice; they were being held in bondage, just as the humans were. After all, she did enjoy working for the Mice. Most of them were a pleasant enough bunch.

Kneeling beside a motorcycle, she reached blindly for a ratchet, only to find it pressed into her hand. Starting slightly, she turned to her left. With a little laugh, she shook her head, turning back to her work.

"So you want all the Fish-tech off it?" she asked, again. Rimfire was going to get testy with her if she kept pestering him. "I'm still not really sure I understand what's going on."

The young Mouse looked so haggard; his dark eyes solemn as he watched the human work. With a long sigh, and a shrug, he opened his mouth to explain again. "It's a ritual. No Martian is ever without their bike. So… when a biker dies, we… we send the bike to her. A full tank of gas, and no possible way to track the machine."

"Isn't that cruel?" Tessa asked, as the purple bike beeped sluggishly at her. Out of habit, she patted the front wheel; it had become second nature to treat the hunk of metal like nothing more than a giant dog. "I mean, can't they feel it?"

Again, he shrugged. "Nobody knows," he frowned slightly, leaning forward to pat the bike's seat. "I'm sure Sparkle understands. Besides, it's what… what Rico would want."

Tessa closed her eyes, and rubbed her cheek with a greasy finger. The dark smudge against the woman's bronze skin stood out in the bright garage lights. The poor kid, she thought. He's really taking this harder than he should. I wish I could do something. Finally, she pulled the small Plutarkian tracking unit off the carburetor. "That should do it, Rimfire." Standing, she wiped her hands on her gray jumpsuit, purposefully smudging the embroidered numbers. "And, if there's anything you need, just let me know, okay?"

With a chuckle, he clasped her shoulder. "Sometimes I wish you were my mechanic."

"You know-"

"I know, you can't. You'd rather be a S.H.O.C jock than to ride with the big boys." Rimfire chuckled, an oddly hollow sound. "Tess, do you still have your bay door security codes?"

"That's an odd question." She retrieved a rag from the far wall. "Of course I do, but why?"

"We think the renegades are salvaging equipment after dark. I need clearance for a three-man crew to bring some surveillance equipment out to a few designated spots."

"At night?"

Rimfire nodded.

Tessa played with the zipper on her jumpsuit. "I'll see what I can do. You can count on me."

"Where? Where have you been?" Limburger grabbed for Steel's arm, but she instinctively recoiled. "It's all dismantled. It's all done. It's been days! Where have you been?"

She didn't answer, but pushed by the old piscine brute. Modo, Vinnie and Throttle meandered in behind her. The place was no less strange than before. The wide doors to the cloning chambers were wide open, the stunted Lab-mice scurrying back and forth across the opening. Limburger wrung his hands together, the scales beneath his gloves crackling like dry leaves. He followed the four Mice over to his dismantled time machine.

"Well, can you help? I need to fix the mistake!" Limburger toadied, trying to get a good vantage point around the gathered Mice.

"Would you shut up?" Steel growled. "What needs to go first, fishlips?"

"You know, fish don't have lips," Limburger waggled his finger at her. "But I guess Plutarkian's do, but we're not really fish, more like icthyo sapiens, if you will."

"Just answer the question," Throttle interposed, laying a hand on Limburger's arm to get his attention.

"Oh, framework first," Limburger muttered, motioning to the large pile of pipes and sheet metal.

"You do know how to put all of this back together, don't you?" Modo asked, as he lifted up a long steel pipe.

Limburger began to ring his hands together again. "Well, in theory…"

Steel threw her hands into the air, with an exasperated sound. "Great, just great. We have a ton of crap that no one knows how to use! How are you guys going to get this thing working? Some human ingenuity perhaps?"

"Actually," Throttle smiled, and glanced at Steel over his shades. "That's exactly what we were thinking."

Vinnie's face lit up. "Charley agreed? Wait-" he paused at Throttle's apologetic features. "Not Charley… Jack. You got Jack to agree." Throttle nodded; Vinnie straightened his bandoliers. "I can handle," he told himself. "I can handle 'cause none of this is real."

Limburger jumped excitedly into the air. "Exactly! None of this is real!"

"What did I tell you?" Steel asked, glancing sideways at Limburger. He stopped bouncing, though the folds and rolls of his flesh still wiggled for a good minute after. She leaned over and placed a small device on the pile of steel. "This is a portable transporter; the other end is keyed to an equipment sled, attached to your bikes. The bay doors will open at midnight; Rimfire's promised."

"Wait, you're not coming with us?" Throttle's brow furrowed.

"I'm still on house suspension." She knelt by the pile, tapping in a short code to the transporter device. "You guys are free to roam, though. Which is why you're setting up the surveillance equipment."

"Sur-" Modo stopped himself, and tried to read her raised brow line. "Oh, right, surveillance…"

"Hopefully tomorrow we get the rest of this out there, and then we've got to figure out how to spring Limburger," Throttle grinned. "Let's get this show on the road."

Steel pressed the send button, and stood back as a soft blue glow bathed over the steel. She reached out, grabbing Vinnie's arm before he could follow his bros out. "Hey," she offered him a pale smile.

"Uh, hey," he muttered, returning it. "What's up?"

"If you can, find out how Rico's doing?" There was something in her voice, something open and vulnerable. Vinnie broke into a huge grin, and shook her shoulders lightly.

"Gladly," he spun on his heel and jogged after his bros. "I'll even give her a hug for you!"

She chuckled, shaking her head. As the hydraulic whine of the doors ended, she turned back to the cowering Plutarkian. "How comfortable are you with death?"