Chapter 12

Someone in the crowd behind PJ's back shouted, "Three cheers for our new hero, PJ the platypus! Hip hip, hooray!"

PJ cringed at such an old-fashioned celebration coming from the crowd.

The mayor glanced at the villagers, relieved at their approval with how things had turned out. "What should we do with them?" he softly indicated, as if to himself, as he turned to face the unconscious Conspirium soldiers. The crowds were likewise gathering around their bodies, although no one seemed to want to touch them.

"Don't you have a jail you can throw them in?" PJ suggested upon approaching. Everyone looked at PJ when he spoke, but in a respectful, attentive way, not in the slightly-scared-and-wondering-if-they're-going-crazy way he was used to strangers staring.

"Well the thing is, we don't have a jail in our village, Mr. PJ, sir," one woman said.

PJ couldn't remember being called 'Mr. PJ' before.

"Do you have rope?"

"Yes, Mr. PJ, sir," said another villager.

"Tie them up to a tree or something," PJ offered.

"Oh, that's a good idea! We should hang them! On a tree!"

"That's not what I meant!" PJ shook his head emphatically. "After all, they could provide useful information! They should be questioned when they come to." There was a general murmur of assent to his words.

"Mr. PJ is so wise!"

"Indeed! He may even be more wise than some of the Elders!"

PJ managed a shy grin. "It's just basic knowledge," he muttered.

He stuck around with the crowd while they dragged the prisoners out of the village and tied them up, making sure they didn't actually hang them. He also suggested they search their clothes to make sure they didn't have any hidden knives to cut themselves free, or the like. By the time they were finished with that, other villagers were gathering below the airship, which sat completely still, like a silent sentinel in the sky. Some of them spotted PJ and called him over.

"Mr. PJ! Mr. PJ! Do you know how to fly that?" They pointed at the Conspirium's ship.

PJ shrugged in answer. He was not used to getting this much attention, unless folks were wrinkling their noses or giving him the stink eye.

"It looks slightly more advanced than the flying cars of my time. Can't anyone here fly it?"

The villagers shook their heads. "It's against the law for us to learn about technology."

"I bet you can do it, PJ!" cheered Sophie, the mayor's daughter, who had chosen that moment to appear by his side. "You're from the past, so you know how to do everything!"

"Hardly." PJ gulped when others in the crowd looked expectantly on him as well. "Oh, all right, I'll take a look. Let's see, the elevator is probably operated by a motion detector, so if I do this―" He ambled around directly underneath the ship, flapping his arms. There was a clacking noise from the hull, and a beam of light enveloped PJ and Sophie, gently lifting them off the ground and transporting them up to the ship. It reminded him of some Phineas and Ferb tech. Down below, the villagers 'oohed' and 'ahhed' as they attentively watched.

The deck was not large, only about twenty feet across its longest axis. PJ helped Sophie off the elevator onto the ship, who ran off to explore as he made his way to the controls. They looked similar enough to flying cars in his time. With a little trial and error, he figured out which pedals and levers did what, and started flying the ship in large circles.

"Wee!" Sophie climbed to the nose of the ship, letting the wind whip her face as she squealed in glee. "Go faster, PJ!" she urged.

Curious himself as to what the ship's capabilities were, he started going faster, climbing and diving, and doing loops, which delighted Sophie to no end. Satisfied, he flew it past the edge of town and settled it down in an empty field by some farmland, then helped Sophie climb out while the villagers rushed to their landing zone in a frenzy, raving about his abilities.

"As expected from our time traveling hero! He knows how to operate all the Kingdom's technology!" the first to catch up to them shouted.

"He really does know how to work any machine!"

"Not really," he tried to explain, "I just spent a lot of time with Phineas and Ferb, and you start picking up on things after a while." Even as he tried to duck out of the way and head back to the town square, more villagers were coming up to him.

"Mr. PJ, sir, my grandmother handed down this antique to me from the olden days, can you tell me what it is?"

PJ couldn't suppress his confused look when he saw the item that villager was holding. "Isn't that just a toaster?"

The crowd went silent at that explanation. "A toaster? What's a toaster?"

So this is what life became like after the EMP, PJ thought. "Toasters were used to toast slices of bread using electricity," he summarized.

The number of awed looks he received from that explanation troubled him. Suddenly, he was bombarded with questions about what this or that thing from the twenty-first century somebody still had was. More and more people ran off to get their things and return a minute later, wanting to hear him appraise it.

"That's a flashlight."

"That's a battery. It's what they used to power flashlights."

"That's an adaptor. It plugs into things, but not flashlights."

"That's a ballpoint pen."

"That's a lamp."

"That's a satellite dish."

"That's a power drill."

"That's a calculator. It's like a slide rule, but it runs on electricity."

"That's a slide rule. It's like a calculator, but I don't really know how it works."

Soon enough, he was back at the town square, surrounded by the villagers. He still wasn't used to being this much the center of attention, but he had to admit it was nice to be popular for once. Until―

"I say we all treat Sir PJ to a drink!" one of the townspeople suggested, to raucous approval.

"Here here!" And before he knew it, he was being whisked away to the local tavern.

"Hey, wait, guys," he tried. "There are kids here! I'm not of drinking age! Platypuses don't have very big livers!" His excuses fell on deaf ears. Sure, now they stop paying attention to what I have to say! At the swinging doors that called back to the saloon entrances of old Western movies, PJ tried to brace against the crowd, but someone picked him up, carried him to the bar, and plopped him down in front of the barkeep.

"Bartender! Give Sir PJ here some of your finest ale!"

"Mr. PJ!" the bartender exclaimed. "The town hero! Here, you can have this on the house!"

A mug almost as big as him was slammed down on the counter before him. "You really don't have to…" PJ tried again before trailing off, but the crowd would have none of it.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!" they chanted. What was the matter with these people? "PJ! PJ! PJ!"

Sighing, PJ climbed up on the bar to face the crowd. He took the mug in both hands and raised it to his bill, took a sip, sputtered at the burning.

"Ay!" Everyone cheered, and PJ couldn't help smiling. He had his first drink, after all. Without getting tossed out this time. Even if a sip was all he could do, he felt happy to just be accepted by everyone for once.

"That's enough for me, my liver is only this big!" He made a circle the size of a quarter with his thumb and forefinger. That got a good laugh out of the crowd, and they got off his back about drinking any more.

Feeling accepted was one thing, but this was too much. PJ was uncomfortable with getting this much attention. He'd been told so many names he couldn't remember a single one of them anymore. He'd been told so many stories about the Kingdom's abuse the villagers had endured he'd lost count of how many times he'd said, "I'm sorry for your loss." Taxes. Basic human rights infractions. Family and friends being taken from them. But the thing he was most sick of hearing was, "Isn't it good? Villagetown brews the best beverages in the entire Bevermont Province!" Apparently, their local distillery was the villager's pride and joy. All the Governor's finest wines and beer came from right here. Good for them, PJ thought, but they didn't have to bring it up in every conversation.

Not wanting to offend his hosts, he did nothing more than frequently glance at the swinging doors as he listened to all the villagers tell him their stories, wishing he could just take a walk by himself to get away from it all. Although it was nice to be treated as well as any other person for once, then he'd remember that there was still a time machine out there, and that awareness would make him feel lousy for sitting here wasting time. Which made him glance at the door again, totally not paying attention to whatever story another villager was telling him, and so the cycle continued.

Eventually, the mayor's little daughter Sophie came and found him at the tavern's biggest wooden table, every seat taken by someone who was trying to curry his attention and favor.

"Daddy said to bring you to meet the Elders," she informed him with an innocent grin.

"I do not know what that means, but let's do it!" he exclaimed, jumping up eagerly. "Sorry fellas," he added when the villagers pled for him to stay. "The Mayor probably wants me to help plan out taking down the Governor."

Reluctantly, the villagers sent him off with a final cheer before happily returning to their drinks.

As soon as he was out the saloon-style doors with Sophie, PJ took a deep breath of cool air. "Ah, feels good to be outside again." The clouds in the west glowed a brilliant red-orange now that the sun had sunk deep in the evening sky. PJ and the young girl strolled along the cobblestone road like they were taking a leisurely walk in the park.

"Is PJ getting hungry yet? Daddy said you should come eat dinner with us." Her cuteness could make his warrior-like heart melt, if he wasn't careful.

"I just want to evict this Governor of yours so I can use his time machine to get back home," he replied.

"I love dinner," she answered, like she hadn't heard a word he said. "My favorite is cheesy potatoes!"

"How old are you, Sophie?"

"I'm four years old! Yesterday was my birthday!"

"Really? Happy birthday!"

"Yeah! And today is Daddy's birthday! I'm going to give him a present."

That seemed like quite the coincidence. PJ wondered. "When is your mother's birthday?"

"Tomorrow," she said immediately. PJ decided that she was probably inventing all these dates.

The village was so small, they had already arrived at the building Sophie was leading him to. Even though he hadn't even spent a whole day in the village, he could already see that this building was special. It was the only building in the whole village made completely of brick and stone, and probably the one with the most square footage. Most of the homes and small businesses were really huts or stables made of timber at best, yet stakes and canvas were more common. Even the tavern they'd just come from, one of the larger local joints he'd seen so far, would pass for little more than a log cabin.

PJ was the taller of the two, so he reached up to get the door handle. They passed through a short entryway into a single square room containing plenty of soft, cushy seats, upon which were seated all the old fogies PJ had noticed sitting together earlier during the confrontation with the Conspirium soldiers. When he entered, they all turned to face PJ, who stopped on the spot. Sophie ran to her father and climbed onto his lap.

"I found PJ!" she bragged energetically. "He was at the tavern!"

"Oh really?" exclaimed the mayor, booping her on the nose with a smile. Turning to address PJ, "So, you've tried our lager? Villagetown brews the best beverages in the entire Bevermont Province!"

"So I've been told," PJ drolled. About 50 gajillion times. He inspected the roughly crafted stone walls and some of the modest paintings that decorated them, resisting the urge to ask what this place was, as he didn't particularly care that much and assumed he got the gist. Despite the fact that he knew it was probably a good idea to gather as much useful intel about his new life circumstances as possible, he'd seen enough to piece together that this building was essentially the town's City Hall.

"You are standing before the Council of Elders who run our village," the mayor explained, picking up on his conflicted expression. "It is they who chose me as its mayor. Here, we discuss Villagetown's needs and how to best take care of the people."

Nailed it, he snorted softly.

"We're gonna talk about boring grown-up stuff, now, Sophie," the mayor gently intoned in his daughter's ear. "Why don't you run home and see if Mommy needs any help cooking dinner?"

"Okay, Daddy!"

With an easy air, she bounced off his lap and bounded out.

"Is it safe letting her wander off alone like that?" PJ couldn't help but ask.

"We're a small town, everyone knows everyone. As long as there aren't any Kingdom soldiers around, it's perfectly safe inside our gates."

That sounded bizarre to PJ, who knew all too well that Marie could never be allowed to leave home without at least her bodyguard. "If you say so."

"Don't worry, my home is just next door. Like I said, we're a small town. Now, then, let's get started. PJ, the Council is in agreement that if you uphold your end of the bargain, you can have the time machine from the Governor's mansion to return to your own time."

PJ nodded politely. As if he would let them stop him from taking it in the first place.

"Now, we have already discussed the matter of creating our own militia as a council. Under our current circumstances, we believe we will be able to spare twenty-one of our men to fight, and we should have enough pitchforks and torches to arm them all."

PJ blinked. Were they serious?

"Now, we would need to make arrangements for everyone to have a horse for the four-day ride to the mansion, but when Farmer Dale gets back from his cow-herding trip next week, if he can spare a few of his ponies, we should have enough for everyone."

"I'm sorry, did you say, 'torches and pitchforks?'" interrupted PJ.

"Is there a problem?"

"The Conspirium has semi-automatic, automatic, heck, they probably even have just plain -matic guns. And flying airships. And tanks, and missiles, and bombs, and drones, and jeeps, and radio, and satellite images, and―they've got everything! They have everything plus an extra hundred years' worth of technological advances!"

That did it. Everyone (except for the really old, drooping woman who looked like she was asleep) visibly deflated.

He didn't stop there. "And waiting a week to make our move? In your dreams! Do you think they won't notice their men go missing after today? I guarantee they'll be sending more soldiers this way tomorrow. And this time, they will be packing heat!" Any spirit of rebellion was now utterly eliminated from the room. Reading the mood, PJ felt bad, but clearly, these people had no idea what they were up against.

"You're right," sighed the mayor wearily. "It's hopeless. We don't stand a chance."

"Not if we try to storm the mansion like a mob, with a bunch of torches and pitchforks," PJ admitted. "We need a new plan. Let's start over from scratch. Tell me everything you know about the Conspirium, the Kingdom, the Governor, the soldiers, the mansion, everything."

The mayor shifted his gaze awkwardly from one council member to another, and PJ didn't like the looks they were sharing. Finally, turning back to PJ, he broke the bad news. "That's the problem. We―don't really know all that much about them ourselves. Nobody here has ever been more than a half-day's journey away from the village."

PJ was about ready to give up. "Okay, then. Why don't we try questioning our Conspirium prisoners?"

"That's a good idea, actually." The mayor's face turned a shade of pink, as if embarrassed he hadn't thought of that himself. "I'll have someone bring them in."

"Might I recommend," blurted PJ, "just bringing in one at a time. Interrogations work better that way."

"Very well, PJ. We're relying on your experience with this."

PJ got the feeling they'd be doing that a lot going forward.

A few minutes later, the soldier who had announced himself as Tannen Van Stomm was brought in with his wrists tied behind his back. "There you are, little dude!" he exclaimed brightly upon seeing PJ, whilst ignoring the Elders. "I want you train me to become strong and brave, like you are, little dude, so I can become a better bully! Please be my sensei!" Then, as if he'd taken lessons in humility from the mayor earlier, Van Stomm dropped to his knees and prostrated himself before PJ, somewhat smacking his forehead into the floor in the process, being unable to use his hands to balance.

"Er…" PJ had not anticipated this strange turn of events. "I'm not a dojo or a sensei. And you're lucky I stopped the villagers from hanging you and your men earlier. Now it's time for you to return the favor. We need information, and either you cooperate, or you'll be having that date with the noose after all."

"So what you're saying is," remarked Van Stomm, "you―saved my life?"

"Darn right," replied PJ. "That means you―"

"―Are now your slave for life," he interjected.

"That's right. Wait, what? No, that's not where I was going with that at all!" PJ facepalmed.

Van Stomm stood upright and squared his shoulders, in an effort to look official. "The Bully Code has spoken! Oh, if only my Pop could see me now. Well, little dude, as your new lifelong slave, I will do whatever ask. So if information is what you need, you can count on me, Tannen Van Stomm!"

Still pinching the bridge of his beak, PJ said, "Fine. Just tell us everything you know about the Governor's mansion."

The plan was easily the best he'd ever had. PJ reckoned it might even hold a kernel to Phineas and Ferb's legendary reputation for creativity.

...

"We don't have the weapons or the manpower to invade the mansion head-on," he'd said, running his finger over the little hand-drawn map he'd produced with Van Stomm's help. "This guard post here is small, yet it's enough to stop us cold. However, numbers aren't the only thing that matters. More wars are won from using the element of surprise than they are from overpowering the enemy. We just have to stick to our strengths."

"But we don't have any strengths," one of the Elders said.

"Everyone has something," countered PJ. "C'mon, think! Isn't there something this town is good at? It could be anything!"

A few of the Elders swapped glances before the mayor turned what they were all thinking into something audible. "Villagetown brews the best beverages in the entire Bevermont Province."

"Eureka!" PJ hooted.

…

What really amazed him was how quickly he'd come up with the plan. Granted, it had taken until almost midnight to get everything prepared and ready. Once the airship was loaded with alcohol, PJ, Van Stomm, the mayor, and two other villagers boarded under the dim starlight and took off into the night.

…

"It will be suicide to assault the mansion unarmed," PJ elaborated to the Council. "We'll be stopped by the guard post anyways, we should make the most of our time there."

…

The mayor and the two other men from the village had changed into the Conspirium soldiers' uniforms earlier, adopting them as disguises. Van Stomm wore his as well, and without PJ there, they looked like they really were a small unit of UNA Kingdom private officers.

"It seems a waste to give all this to the Kingdom," one of the men said, regarding the barrels. "Can't we just have a little?"

"The apothecary spiked them with sleep drugs," PJ said over his shoulder from the wheel. "You don't want to drink any of it. We'll be at the guard post soon."

Within minutes, he could see the lights shining through the windows of the watchtower up ahead. The tractor beam immediately assumed remote control of the airship and pulled them in.

"It'll be up to you four, now," PJ said, before climbing into the final, empty barrel to hide.

The airship slowed to a stop at the gate. A forcefield barrier straight out of a sci-fi flick, shaped like a giant dome that rose hundreds of feet high and extended out for miles, blocked their progress forward.

A soldier came out from the guard post and approached the ship. "Vessel 2387, you were supposed to be back hours ago! What kept you so long?"

"Uh, well, you see, dudes," Van Stomm stepped forward to explain, "while we were stopped at Villagetown, we ended up getting some drinks and lost track of time."

"Dereliction of duty, tsk, tsk," tsked the soldier. "I suppose I will have to inform my superior officer, I will…"

"What if I were to say we brought back some of Villagetown's fine wines with us?" Van Stomm suggested underhandedly, indicating with his hand to the cargo. "We don't mind sharing, and we can keep the details to ourselves."

The checkpoint soldier grinned, quickly picking up on Van Stomm's bribe. "Oh, I must have misheard! You were diligently searching for the time travelers until you ran out of daylight!" He reached for the nearest barrel.

"Oh, you know, that barrel's the best of the bunch, shouldn't we leave that for the Governor's table?" one of the villagers said, playing his role perfectly.

"The best barrel of the bunch?" The soldier was practically drooling. That bit about being the 'best of the bunch' really seemed to pique his interest.

"That's right. But here, take this one! Villagetown brews the best beverages in the entire Bevermont Province!" The villager bent over to pick up another barrel for the guard.

"Now, now, Private! I'm gonna need something on the strong side, otherwise my memory has a tendency to be a little too sharp for its own good!"

"Sargeant, I think you'll find that any of these other barrels will satisfactorily suit your taste," the mayor reaffirmed. "That one really should go to the Governor himself!"

The soldier hugged the barrel against his chest even tighter after hearing that. "The Governor won't be able to tell the difference, will he? I could always ask my superior officer's opinion."

Van Stomm pretended like he gave in. "No, that's not necessary. Go ahead and take that one. We'll bring these other barrels with us to share with the other patrols."

The soldier threw his head back victoriously and laughed. "Man, at first I thought this was going to be another long and boring post, but I had a feeling that something special was gonna happen tonight!" With that, he carried the barrel inside on one shoulder.

The four thespians looked back at the barrel PJ was hiding inside. PJ peeked out to give them the thumbs up. "Now go make sure that drug works!" he whispered.

He waited silently in the barrel for a little over twenty minutes, listening as the remaining guards joined the one they'd bribed. Soon, loud laughter and the occasional breaking into singing could be heard filling the watchtower, indicating that the liquor was working. The inside of the hut was loud for a while, but eventually, the sounds died out in time. Not much later, and the mayor came out to give PJ the all clear.

"They're all asleep!" He sounded thrilled. "PJ, you're a genius!"

"And the armory?" PJ asked, pulling himself out of the barrel.

"You're gonna have to come see for yourself."

PJ followed the mayor into the guard post and up a small staircase. When he opened the door to the armory, he stopped short. Jackpot!

There were racks of guns and crates of grenades. There were spare uniforms, riot gear, kevlar vests, stun sticks, and body shields. There were lasers and rocket launchers and RPG's. It was a beautiful sight.

"We could outfit the whole village with all this gear!" The mayor was shaking, he couldn't contain his excitement.

"Let's fit as much of it as we can on the airship," PJ said, also doing his best to hide a smile. "Remember, we're not finished yet."

…

"According to Van Stomm, the guard post is the only obstacle on the way to the mansion," PJ observed, looking at his newly self-appointed personal slave. "Now, from what you're telling me, the Kingdom doesn't have any military forces stationed inside the forcefield. All the more reason to go tonight, when they least expect it. All we have to do is follow the river. That should be easy enough."

…

The tractor beam had been disabled, and Van Stomm knew how to open the forcefield barrier's gateway window, letting them through. PJ guided the airship along the river by light of the soft glow emitted by the forcefield surrounding them. Suddenly, one of the villagers standing watch at the deck shouted, "Look over there!"

PJ glanced with the others in the direction he was pointing. A half dozen of the two-man flying motorcycles he'd seen back in the irradiated zone were fast approaching, a couple thousand feet off their port side. PJ cursed. "Get ready for a dogfight!" he screamed.

"A dog fight?" asked the same villager. "I don't see any dogs around!"

"It means an aerial battle!" PJ exclaimed.

"How'd they find us?" cried the mayor.

"They must be using radar," Van Stomm declared. "Do any of you know how to shoot?"

Each of the three villagers shook their heads. PJ was afraid of that. "Van Stomm, it looks like you're gonna have to drive!" He stepped away from the controls.

"But Sensei," Van Stomm disputed while picking up his gun, "it is my duty as your lifelong slave to protect you with my very life, if need be! I should be fighting instead of these dudes!"

"Except none of them can drive!" bellowed PJ.

"But I―"

"I said take the wheel!"

Van Stomm reluctantly took PJ's place. With that, PJ shuffled to the weapons they'd stockpiled in the cargo bay. "All right, you three, watch me. Here's your thirty second training on how to use a gun. You hold it like this, here's where the bullets come out, only press the trigger when you're ready to shoot! This button is the safety, it won't shoot unless you slide it like this. To reload, you push this thing here, the magazine pops out, and you put a full one in! Got it?"

They nodded. The flying motorcycles were almost on them. The pack leader extracted a bullhorn and held it to his chin. "You are flying in a restricted airspace. Land now! This is your final warning!"

"Ah, scary! We should probably do what he says!" cried Van Stomm, his brave face from just a moment ago completely gone.

PJ fired a salvo shot from one of the same futuristicky machine guns he'd seen the Conspirium soldiers carrying back on the Forbidden Mountain. The pack leader veered away in response, and the motorcycles converged in a tidy formation on their rear.

"So much for the element of surprise," PJ shrugged, before commanding the other men behind him to open fire.

Gunfire rent the air, causing their formation to break and scatter. PJ squinted down the sights, picked out a target, and let loose a spray, hitting the front bumper of one of the motorcycles. Some smoke belched out of the engine, but it careened onward just as before. None of the other vehicles appeared to have sustained any damage, PJ noted with a quick glance.

No longer attempting to stay in formation, the motorcycles trailed them in every direction. PJ watched as each of the copilots extracted their guns and took aim for their ship. "Take cover!" he shouted before ducking below the gunwale. The others followed his example right as a barrage of bullets tore into the side of the ship. PJ quickly snatched a hand grenade from a nearby crate and pulled the pin, counted to three, and tossed it over the side.

BANG!

The bullets immediately subsided. PJ chanced a peek and saw one of the motorcycles was plummeting, the pilots wrestling futilely with the controls.

"Nice shot!" complimented the mayor, but PJ didn't allow himself to lose focus.

"Stay down!"

One of the motorcycles had climbed above them to get a better shot at their airship's innards. PJ lifted his sights and started firing in bursts. The motorcycle zigged and zagged, then retreated back to the ship's aft.

"Are we getting close to the mansion yet?" PJ shouted over the wind.

"I don't see anything yet!" Van Stomm called back over his shoulder.

"Start taking us down lower! If we end up crashing, it'll be better if we are close to the ground!"

"Aye aye!"

Shifting his attention back to the dogfight, PJ reassessed his surroundings. The motorcycle he'd hit earlier seemed to be having flight issues. It was falling back. That left four motorcycles still on their tail. They'd returned to formation far aft, well out of reach for shooting to be of any use.

"What are they doing now?" asked the mayor. PJ didn't know.

"They're retreating!" claimed one of their comrades.

"I don't think so," PJ said. "Look!"

They all looked at one of the motorcycle copilots, who was attaching something a lot bigger than any of their guns to the front of his hovership. An extra-long barrel was being mounted to the motorcycle, just below the windshield.

Van Stomm's voice rose up over the sound of the rushing wind. "I see it! The mansion's not far ahead!"

"That's great! Head straight for it!" PJ ordered. Then he looked back in time to see the motorcycles converge together to help support the huge barrel being attached to the front of the one vehicle. While one of the copilots was helping attach it to the bumper, another was stuffing PJ couldn't tell what down the barrel. It reminded him of the old cannoneers who used to ram powder and cannonballs down the barrel of a cannon to prime it.

"I have a bad feeling about this," he said.

They could do nothing but watch. Finally, the other motorcycles pulled away, leaving the one that was armed with that cannon-like barrel extruding like the long nose of a swordfish. The barrel was now pointing straight at them, and the motorcycles were closing in once again.

PJ jerked himself away from the scene to comb through their weapons stash. He grabbed the case for the RPG, uncinched the latches, and grunted as he mounted the hefty grenade launcher onto his shoulder. "Get back!" he shouted at the others, who scrambled out of his way. Using the gunwale to keep the bazooka steady, he aimed for the center of the formation cluster, adjusted for wind speed and travel velocity, and squeezed the trigger.

The very moment he did so, the cannon-mounted motorcycle fired at them.

His RPG sailed through the air, directly at the swordfish-shaped motorcycle. His aim was true, the blast knocked all the remaining motorcycles out of the air.

"Whoa! That was awesome!" exclaimed the mayor. The look on his face reminded PJ of a kid on Christmas morning.

At the same time, a wide, thick, wire netting burst from the cannonball they'd been hit with, which wrapped itself around their airship. Immediately, the net delivered a powerful electric shock that overloaded the airship's systems. It stalled in midair, making PJ's stomach do backflips as they started to fall.

"Assume crash positions!" he shouted before diving to the floor.

"Hey little dude, should I push this button that says, 'Only use in case of crash?'"

PJ looked through his elbows, having already wrapped his arms over his head, to see what Van Stomm was talking about. "Sure, why not?"

The remedial bully hit the button. Out of nowhere, bunches of inflated airbags flew out of the dashboard and wrapped themselves around the five of them, in a way that PJ could only describe as being enveloped by a big, squishy boa constrictor. Seconds later, their vessel crashed, throwing them bodily around the deck, only for them to bounce around harmlessly inside their soft cocoons.

Once the hovercraft had skidded to a stop, the airbags deflated. "Is everyone okay?" asked PJ, untangling himself from the mess that had been made by their stockpile of weapons being tossed about in the crash.

His little platoon groaned as they climbed to their feet. "I think so," said one, and the others nodded.

"Well, here's the good news: we made it." PJ indicated to the mansion, just a stone's throw away. At that moment, alarms started going off inside the mansion. "Bad news is our plan to sneak in is out. Alright, everyone, grab as many weapons as you can carry, and follow me! Our objective now is to obtain the Governor as a hostage before more soldiers arrive." He cocked his machine gun. "No time for stealth, we're gonna go in guns blazing!"

Decked out with guns in both hands, a black bandanna tied over his crown, lines of black grease smeared under his eyes, and two bandoleers slung over his shoulders so that they made an X across his chest, PJ kicked down the front door, screaming at the top of his lungs―to find that the foyer was empty.

"Whoa, look at this place!" The mayor and the rest of the men came in behind him and were immediately starstruck by the luxurious interior. A hanging chandelier overhead lit the front room. To their left, a long table that looked like it could seat forty extended the distance between them and the glossy kitchen, which itself sparkled enticingly beside a fully stocked bar. From here, they could see through fifteen-foot tall windows that a vacuous indoor swimming pool and spa was laid on the other side.

"Eyes on the prize," PJ said, who had been inside plenty of rich houses before. "We're here for the Governor, not to be impressed."

Leading the way, he followed a luxuriously thick burgundy rug thrown over the solid stone floor, the rest of the party trailing just behind him. Before they could proceed very far, a tall, finely tailored butler sporting a perfectly groomed goatee calmly approached from the upper level of the grand staircase directly ahead.

"Good evening, intruders," he said at the bottom step, as if expecting them. "Would you care for a cup of tea to go with―" Without warning, the butler transformed into a twelve-foot tall, mechanized robot with two huge lasers for arms― "...your doom?" The imposing voice that spoke those last two words was diametrically opposed to the inviting one the butler was employing moments before.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me." PJ's shoulders drooped momentarily before he was forced to jump aside to dodge the incoming laser. "Everyone spread out, I'll cover you!" he shouted to the others from the decorative suit of armor he was ducking behind. "Let's daaaaance!" With that, he charged the robot butler, guns blazing, giving his squadron the cover fire he'd promised―only to feel an explosion right in front of his face knock him off his feet.

Wincing slightly, PJ looked up from his supine position. The robot butler was in tatters, with various parts scattered all across the floor.

"What was that?" PJ looked at the group in time to see the mayor lower the bazooka from his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

"I like this gun," he said, patting it lovingly.

"WARN ME BEFORE YOU SHOOT IT NEXT TIME!" PJ erupted. "That almost hit me!"

"Sorry," he shrugged, not looking apologetic at all as he cradled the RPG in his arms.

PJ groaned and climbed to his feet before noticing some whirring noises coming from the robot butler. Taking a closer look, he saw a few metallic colored threads working their ways out, extending themselves like little worms toward the severed limbs. "What's it doing?"

"Self repairing," Van Stomm offered.

"Then we should keep moving before it's finished." PJ approached the grand staircase that commanded the view ahead. "Van Stomm, you lead. You know the way, right?"

"Emm, not so much, actually. I haven't really, you know, been inside the mansion before."

"Fine," PJ sighed. "I'll lead the way. Keep on your toes, let's see if our luck holds out." The others followed him to the upper landing where the staircase split at a T. The hallways on either side stretched out quite a ways, with doors lining both walls.

"Start checking the doors," ordered PJ. "Quickly!"

"What about the first floor?" asked one of the villagers. "Shouldn't we be searching it, too?"

"I've been inside enough mansions to know most of the bedrooms are usually not on the ground floor," PJ said, checking the closest door. "That'll be where stuff like the home theater, bowling alley, and garages are."

"Unbelievable," he heard the mayor uttering. "The whole village could live here, and this is all just for one person? This is the third bathroom I've seen!"

"There's probably fifty bathrooms and at least half that many bedrooms, if I had to guess," PJ said nonchalantly. "Welcome to the lifestyle of the super-rich. Just wait until you see their yachts and personal airplanes."

"Meanwhile, my people are hungry and living in the dirt," seethed the mayor. "And the same is true for every other village in Governor Bevermont's province! He must pay for this! Hey, in here!" he shouted, and they all rushed to the door he had tried. "I think I heard someone inside, but this door's locked."

PJ struck the handle with the butt of his gun, busting the slider through the wooden hatch, and swung the door open. "Mr. Mayor, get the light."

"I've never turned on a light switch before," he said in a somewhat aloof voice. The expansive bedroom, undoubtedly the biggest one they'd passed so far, flooded with light, but appeared to be empty.

"Check under the bed, inside the entertainment center, behind the dresser," listed PJ, and the men searched. Meanwhile, he walked over to one of the two walk-in closets and took a peek.

The larger one had a luxurious personal bathroom, an automatic coffee dispenser, and a bathtub the size of a school bus and made of copper, before he got to the actual closet. The door was shut. PJ tried the handle, locked again. He repeated the same motion, slamming the butt of his gun into the finely polished wood, destroying the door.

"Ahh!" A miserly looking figure in silk pajamas and a nightcap cowered before him.

"That's him!" The mayor came round from behind PJ. "That's the Governor!"

"That was too easy," PJ remarked. "Oh well, like Ferb always says, never look a gift horse in the mouth. Tie him up!"

At that moment, a loud thumping noise, like a helicopter, could be heard approaching from outside. As the men subdued the Governor, PJ glanced out the window to see what was making the racket. A vast airship the size of an aircraft carrier was almost upon them, escorted by multiple helicopters and dozens of smaller hovercraft matching the one they'd flown in on. PJ cursed. "We're out of time!" Turning to the Governor, he demanded, "Where is the time machine!"

"In the garage," their terrified hostage responded.

"Take us to it!"

"But PJ," the mayor interrupted, "we don't have time for that!"

"Then we'll make time for it! After I take the time machine, you all use something else in the garage to make your getaway! Van Stomm will drive you!"

"No!" Van Stomm protested. "I'm not letting you go anywhere without me, little dude! Besides, being chased by those helicopters sounds scary!"

Just then, the window exploded as bullets smashed into the room. Everybody ducked. "Just move!" ordered PJ, pointing for the door with one hand while shielding his head from flying glass with the other. They all dashed out without further argument.

They sprinted down the hallway, raced down the grand staircase and through the kitchen area, away from the front door. The Governor was being cooperative, not that he had a choice, and led them to the garage. The huge concrete room, big enough to hold a football field, displayed hundreds of vehicles, mostly flying cars, although there were also quite a few of the classic flightless cars from before PJ's time. They didn't have time to stop to admire any of them, however, and PJ had to spur the villagers on once or twice when they paused to admire the beauty of some of the classics.

They sped around one display in the center of the garage and then PJ saw it: like the heavens were parting, a beam of light shining down to cast it in a golden light, and a choir of angels singing praises―there was the time machine, at last! He ran out ahead of the rest of the group at full speed.

"PJ, wait!" the mayor shouted behind him. PJ ignored him. "STOP!"

There was a level of franticness in his voice that made PJ stop and turn around. "What?" he said, annoyed.

"If you go back to your time and change the past, what will happen to us?"

PJ did not like the tone he took. "The future will be restored to its original self," he said, forcing a calm voice.

"What does that mean? Are we going to just blink out of existence?" There was a sudden tension in the air between them.

Gritting his teeth, PJ raised his machine gun at the mayor. "Look, you can't see the bigger picture like I can. I'm not letting another time machine slip through my hands."

"So you were planning to double-cross us this whole time," the mayor sighed, then nodded to the other two villagers, who aimed their weapons at PJ, he himself raising his bazooka. Van Stomm, largely confused by this new development, finally decided to raise his gun at the mayor, and one of the villagers in turn redirected their gun at Van Stomm.

"It's not like that!" exclaimed PJ, never letting his gun sights waver from the mayor's head. "This is the only way to save everyone!"

"What about our village?" demanded the mayor. "If you change the past, my people might never even come to exist in the first place! And Sophie―my daughter might never be born at all!"

"Look, you're going to have to trust me, all right?" spat PJ. "This is bigger than just you and me. Fixing the future is the best thing for the world!"

"I don't care about what's best for the world! I want what's best for Sophie!" screamed the mayor. With that, he hefted the bazooka back on his shoulder to aim it at the time machine and pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

PJ dove away from the explosion, then turned on his side to scream at the mayor. "You dirtbag! You've doomed us all!"

The mayor tossed the bazooka aside, having used the last of his RPG's. "I'm sorry, PJ, but I need you to stay here and help us fight the Kingdom. We don't stand a chance without you. I have to protect my daughter, you understand, right? I'd do anything for her."

PJ was about to explode in a fit of rage, but before he could, another, bigger explosion rocked the mansion's foundation. One of the walls of the garage was blown away, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that threw itself over the whole room, eliminating visibility.

"You idiot! Blowing up the time machine gave away our location to the Conspirium!" PJ shouted through the choking dust. He instinctively ran for cover behind one of the classic cars, using his sight memory to locate it. The dust was already starting to settle, and PJ peeked out to see a small army of Conspirium soldiers wearing advanced combat mech suits advancing through the hole in the wall. He couldn't see what had become of the rest of his party. PJ swore as he raised his gun and sprayed bullets in the direction of the Conspirium soldiers, which only bounced off the high tech armor futilely. He swore again, dropped the gun, and retreated further into the garage.

"Little dude, where are you? Sensei?!" Van Stomm was calling from somewhere behind him, but PJ ignored it. The garage was full of vehicles, maybe he could escape in one of them? He looked at what was close by. Lots of luxury cars, flying and otherwise, many built for speed, but too conspicuous, as they would make easy targets to shoot down. There was a motorcycle―an actual motorcycle, not a flying one―and he gravitated toward it. It didn't offer much protection, but it would be small and fast and closer to his size. He decided it was his best chance.

Upon arriving at it, he discovered it was electric. He popped off a section of plastic casing to hot-wire it while looking back over his shoulder in time to see the Conspirium soldiers already bearing down on the villagers. Van Stomm had, of course, surrendered immediately. The three villagers were trying to hold the soldiers off, but their guns were completely ineffective and the soldiers marched fearlessly through the gunfire.

They had betrayed him, he didn't need to go back and save them, PJ rationalized. What could he do, anyways? Those mech suits looked unstoppable. For some reason, PJ felt guilty and hesitated to abandon them. Thoughts of his former strike team crept into his mind. This was why he'd always preferred to do things alone. At least if you were alone, you wouldn't have to lose anyone else. He shook his head to clear it and revved the engine. The electric bike was very sensitive and shot out so fast he almost fell off backwards.

He weaved through the displays toward the garage's proper exit ramp, away from the soldiers. The bike could really move, which gave PJ a slight smile from the thrill. He caught air off the ramp and zoomed into the night, but the ships overhead spotted him and accelerated his way. Some descended down ahead of him, cutting off his escape, so he redirected his bike off the paved road and onto the expansive grass lawn, dodging bullets as they started to rain down.

The airships seemed to be faster than him, but on his electric bike, he had better mobility. More ships would appear in front of him to cut him off, and he'd have to turn to avoid them, only for others to get ahead of him and do it again. He was being herded further and further away from the mansion and closer to the river, where he'd run out of room to drive. They had him trapped, and he knew it.

A small, wooden mill stood quietly on the bank of the river, a waterwheel churning happily away at its side. In the dark, it was his best reference point, to see how close he was to the water. Thinking quickly, PJ accelerated toward his mark. The airships followed hot on his tail. They didn't cut him off this time, thinking the river would do that for him. He urged the bike to go faster.

Rapidly approaching the water's edge, the airships slowed down, anticipating him to bank left or right, but he maintained a straight course for the river. The mill whizzed past on his left, and the ground suddenly dropped off by a few feet at the bank, causing his motorcycle to sail through the air. Timing it perfectly, PJ leapt from the seat of his bike, diving at an angle so his velocity would carry him away from where it would crash.

The bike hit the water with a large splash. Searchlights from the airships above watched as it slowly sank below the choppy surface. Other lights panned this way and that, searching for the rider, waiting for him to surface. After a quarter of an hour passed, it became clear that he never would.

When day broke, he didn't know how many miles lay between him and the mansion. Exhausted, PJ crawled onto a pebble-strewn beach to dry off and rest.

That was it. He'd blown it. He'd been given one last chance to stop the Conspirium, and he failed. He'd failed his country, he'd failed his family, he'd failed himself. It hit him like a ton of bricks when that thought started to sink in: he'd never see Marie, Phineas, or Isabella ever again. Hungry, tired, heart-broken, and utterly alone, PJ curled up in a small patch of sand and cried himself to sleep.