Chapter Eleven: Hurry and Wait

Buttercup flew directly into the cargo bay of The Princess after they rendezvoused with the aeroship over Ohio. Medics were waiting for them as she set down lightly, bracing her passengers until the bay door closed behind them. The Powerpuff Girl released her grasp on Ben and immediately swept Dexter into her arms before he could crumble to the deck. She gazed down at him for the first time since she had rescued them from the steel mill, seemingly surprised to find herself holding her father's friend and stunned at the sight of blood covering his face and front.

"We'll take him," said one of the KND medics, touching her arm.

She blinked a moment longer at Dexter's drawn features, then gently laid him on the waiting gurney. Looking to the anxious medical officers, Buttercup quietly said, "Take good care of him."

"We will," promised the medico in charge, a young Asian boy. "Come on, I want his vitals before we get to sickbay. 207, get some fluids started. Tennyson, is that yours?"

"What?" wondered Ben, catching his breath and chafing his arms to warm up again. He blinked, and the medico pointed to the dried blood on his face and hands and jacket.

"Oh." He looked down, astonished, and stammered, "N-No, it's his. I'm okay."

The KND doctor nodded. "I'll need you in sickbay as soon as possible."

"Be down in a minute," promised Ben. He looked to Buttercup. "Are you all right?"

She pursed her lips, looking ill at ease as Dexter was whisked away. "He's just a little older than me," she finally admitted in a quiet tone, glancing at Ben. Plainly Dexter's condition was bothering her deeply. "We used to try to make him blush when he'd stop by the Professor's lab."

The notion of Dexter surrounded by a trio of pretty, flirtatious girls was enough to bring a weary smile to Ben's face. "That can't have been much of a challenge, Buttercup."

"It wasn't," she agreed, "but it was fun."

"He'll be okay," Ben found himself responding automatically, as much for her as himself. "He's tough."

"I hope tough is enough," was all she said.

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The sickbay in The Princess was compact and crowded and not made to handle the number of injured that this mission had produced. The delay in receiving their primary patient had given the medical staff a chance to deal with the casulaties - ranging in Number 431's broken ribs and collarbone to the cut on Number Five's arm - and so they were ready for Dexter when he arrived. The medics were working on stabilizing their patient when Ben entered, their voices low and clipped. He watched and listened, the lingo beyond his ken but his anxiety more than a match for any of them. There was a reassured air about the chief medico that gave great comfort despite his youth and he used the equipment and gave orders with practiced ease. Though Ben admired the innovation and ability of the Kids Next Door to McGyver effective equipment from the most basic materials, he was glad for the modern technology surrounding him. He supposed it was simply a matter of being comfortable with what was familiar. He was doubly glad for Dexter's sake because odds were good that boy genius would freak out if he woke up and found himself hooked up to a respirator jury rigged from a bubble gum machine and vacuum cleaner tubes, all held together by duct tape. Come to think of it, Ben was fairly certain he would have freaked out right along with him.

"Hey, Ben," said a small voice beside him.

He turned to see DeeDee, haggard and exhausted, sitting wrapped in a blanket in the only chair available. Her hair was limp and dirty and her face was streaked by soot and tears. In her hands she clutched Dexter's glasses.

"Hey, Dee," he replied, awkwardly putting his hand on her narrow shoulder. He wasn't particularly close to or familiar with DeeDee - to him she was simply Dexter's annoying sister. Seeing her pale, tearful face and thinking on the anxiety and hardship she had suffered, he felt a wave of sympathy and clumsy affection for the gawky teenager. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Pretty okay." She stole a glance at her brother where he lay small and still in the bed. The only thing of Dexter visible through the wall of medics was his hand, stained rusty-brown with his own dried blood. "Thank you," she said with a sniff. "You saved him."

"Just returning the favor," he replied. "Do you need anything?"

"I . . . I want to go wash up. Will you stay here with him?"

"Yeah. You go ahead. I'll be right here. I have to talk to Number Seventy-Seven anyway."

"I'll check on Mac, too."

"Mac?" He frowned, unable to place the name.

"Oh!" DeeDee exclaimed softly, wrapping the blanket tight around her skinny frame. "You don't know. He was a prisoner, too. Number Five freed him. He said he's from Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, that place the Ur-Dexter attacked."

A chill swept through Ben Tennyson at her innocent statement and he felt himself shudder as the truth was hammered home. Suddenly he was run down and sore, his head and body aching. His thoughts were moving so fast that he couldn't keep up. For a moment his thoughts scattered, and from that chaos the pieces fell into place very neatly. Dexter had been right in his suspicions. Up until the attack on Foster's, there had never been any hint of a traitor among Earth's Forces. Even the worst of the worst - Mojo Jojo and Father and Him - had set aside their grudges in light of the greater threat presented by Planet Fusion. It couldn't actually be said that they worked together, but they all shared a common goal and rarely worked against one another. Even Dexter and Mandark (mostly) managed to co-exist without opening a secondary line of battle in the boulevard between their individual company's headquarters. Things started to fall apart only when the refugees from Foster's had arrived.

What had Mandy said? She had sent a transmission a few hours after The Princess had set out for Pennsylvania. It was a highly irregular move for her - usually when Mandy gave orders the person or team ceased to exist for her until their mission was fulfilled or they were declared lost. Ben realized only now exactly how worried the leader of Earth's Combined Forces really was.

"Tell Tennyson that the world's not ready for two Einsteins, but he'd better be."

That was all. He'd grasped her meaning immediately, but he'd been so focused on the rescue mission that he hadn't given much thought to how she came about her information. Only now, a day later, did he realize she had cornered Bloo and most likely wrung a confession and reams of information out of him. Given his friend's condition, he could only hope Mandy had been as gentle with Bloo as the Fusion had been with Dexter.

DeeDee rambled on, unconscious of Ben's reaction. "He's very little and he's sweet. He was really excited when he found out that some of the Imaginary Friends survived! Even his own friend -"

"Bloo," finished the older boy. DeeDee's surprise that he should know Mac's friend was complete.

"Yeah. How'd you know?" Without waiting for an answer she rose. "Listen, I'll be back in just a few minutes. Watch these for me, will you? And tell them to be careful washing his hands. His fingers were really hurting when I tried to clean them."

She handed him the black-framed glasses and slipped out the door. Ben sank down into her vacated seat with a little groan, overwhelmed by events. He stared at the glasses and let himself be amazed for a few moments at the engineering masterpiece they represented. On the surface there was nothing about them that set them apart from any other set of eyewear in the world, yet this small device had managed to save three lives. He held them up, wincing and looking away when he saw through the lenses. Dexter had lousy vision, and that was putting it nicely.

He leaned against the wall behind him, quite prepared to nod off even though he knew he'd regret sleeping without a boiling hot shower first. That doppleganger could hit. His aching ribs were testimony to that.

"Here."

He blinked, rousing from his stupor to see Number Seventy-Seven, the best field doctor that the KND had, standing before him. There was a steaming cloth in his hands that he offered to Ben.

"You need to wash up a bit," said the Asian boy. "I'm also prescribing you a broad-spectrum antibiotic."

"What for?"

"Biohazard exposure," was all he said.

"How is he?" asked Ben, wiping his face. The heat and moisture were like unto paradise against his windburned skin, but he was surprised by the smear of dried blood on the cloth and rubbed harder. Biohazard expose was an understatement. He mentally winced as he remembered tasting blood. Gross.

"Right now he's stable, but we need to get him back to headquarters immediately."

"What happened to him?"

"I was going to ask you that. Tell me what happened. Where was he when you found him?"

He began to relate what he had seen and done to free Dexter from the Fusion. Seventy-Seven asked a number of detailed questions, forcing Ben to focus his memory on the lab and the hideous sight of Dexter sealed within the glass-walled chamber. When he came to the moment that his friend had stopped breathing he hesitated, suddenly stuck by the enormity of what had happened and what could have happened.

"I was so mad," he confessed, incredulous with himself. He blinked. "I slapped him!"

"Did it work?"

"Well, yeah, he started breathing again."

Number Seventy-Seven actually smiled a bit. "Shock and pain can actually do a lot of good in situations like that, Ben. You did exactly the right thing."

"I guess so."

The medico pursed his lips, growing serious. "You say the chamber exploded when you hit it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, based on what you and DeeDee have told me and Dexter's condition, I'm going to guess that was a decompression chamber of sorts that the Fusion was using on him."

"Huh?"

"If you think about it, it's a pretty easy and effective means of torture. You can cause a world of pain without killing a person outright. It's a good thing he's young and skinny." He ran a hand through his black hair, a cowlick making the front stand up, as he looked for the words. "I'm not going to lie to you, Ben. He's not in great shape. He and DeeDee are both dehydrated, malnourished, and suffering from mild exposure. His ear drums are ruptured, his sinuses, too. He's damaged his vocal chords - most likely from screaming too long - and right now I can only hope his vision won't get any worse with all the blood vessels that have ruptured. We've got him on oxygen therapy and as soon as we get back he'll be undergoing treatment for decompression sickness."

"You mean like the bends?" he wondered, remembering diving with his grandfather and Gwen and the precautions they had taken.

"Exactly. Any severe change in pressure can cause it and from what DeeDee said, it was already hitting him at the end of the first day. By day two his membranes were ruptured and by day three he couldn't walk."

With a little sigh Ben slumped in his chair, staring at the glasses he clutched. His knuckles were turning white with strain and he eased off, afraid of breaking the delicate frames.

"So tell me, Kazu," he said, foregoing code names and numbers and addressing the young doctor directly, soldier to soldier, "did that thing use a mind probe on him?"

Regretfully, the boy nodded. "By the burn marks, I'd say eight or ten times. Looks like Dexter put up a pretty sizable fight."

He stared up at the medico before him, too tired and stricken to hide his reaction. He didn't know what to say or do. He'd spoken to a few survivors of mind probes (for there were only a few who lived through the experience, though if it was because the probe killed them or they'd been executed immediately afterwards, Ben did not know) and they'd said that the pain was brutal, but what was worse was having their every thought and memory and emotion revealed and examined. To be so exposed was the real outrage. Eight or ten times? That was just . . . wrong.

"I wish I'd killed that thing!" he growled. There was a feeling of sick helplessness in the pit of his stomach.

Number Seventy-Seven took a longer and more philosophical view. "So do I. But you had more important duties. Getting Dexter out of there alive is a major accomplishment in itself. Think on that and on this: when he wakes up he's not going to be able to hear or talk and most likely he won't be able to see very well. He's going to be in a world of pain and probably scared out of his mind. He's going to need all friends on deck, Tennyson."

Ben pushed himself to his feet, nodding to Kazu. "He's got it. Can I see him?"

"Yeah. Come on."

He followed Number Seventy-Seven to the only medibed in the sickbay. Leaning heavily on the rail surrounding the bed, Ben was struck by the sheer, fragile smallness of his friend. Dexter's eyes were bandaged, though not heavily. Number Seventy-Seven explained that was more to protect his vision from the light than to cover a wound, but Ben was glad he couldn't see the burn marks from the mind probe. He lay perfectly still, and it seemed any movement would break him. His skin was as white as the bandages, and there was a fine spray of red across his cheeks like spider webs where the blood vessels had broken. An oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose and it was with a certain great sense of relief that the older boy simply watched his friend breathe, grateful for every slow breath that he took. Better than anyone, Ben Tennyson knew the cost of each breath. Pillows braced his legs and arms, keeping his joints flexed, and he was restrained by padded straps to the bed. Monitors and medical equipment and instruments the function of which he couldn't begin to guess were crowded close by, beeping and humming and fading into white sound.

"Jeez, Dex," he muttered, shaking his head. "Can't you do anything halfway?"

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The answer to his question was a resounding No.

Mandy, flanked by Number One, Number Two, and Grim, met them in the docking bay. As he walked down the ramp with Samurai Jack and Numbers Four and Five to greet her, Ben thought he saw something suspiciously like relief flit across her face before her normal scowl took over again. Oh, well, it was nice to know she was capable of worry, however fleeting it may be.

"How is he?" she demanded. She had received regular updates over the past four hours, but she wanted to see and hear for herself that their resident mad scientist was safely returned.

"We're fine, thanks," grumbled Number Four, immediately on the defensive. He ignored Number One's pointed look not to start anything. He hadn't had a chance to wash off the coating of Fusion Matter that Buttercup had rained down upon them. His hair and skin were tinted green and he stank like billy-o. His mood was just as foul as his aura.

Mandy cast the blond KND a glare. The two of them had never gotten along, but plainly only he cared. "Obviously. How is he?"

"He's a mess," Number Five said before Four could dig himself in any deeper, "but a live mess. We'll get him to medical pronto."

"Good. I want your reports by tomorrow morning. We'll debrief then. Anthing else I should know?"

"The whole area north of Pittsburgh is Infected," said Number Five.

Mandy shrugged. "It's not a priority zone. Number One, see to the crew. Two, take care of the wounded. Grim, go get Billy out of the exhaust port before they fire up the engines again. Jack, you and Number Five get Dexter to medical. Tennyson, with me."

As Number Four grumbled about ingratitude and Number Five told him off, Ben caught up with Mandy after a quick nod to Jack to stay with Dexter and keep watch over him. He matched his strides to her short but quick steps and for a few minutes they were silent, walking through the halls of their headquarters. Dexlab HQ was massive, and Ben was there so rarely that he was almost immediately lost. Mandy seemed to know every nook and cranny of the place, however, and he dared not let her get out of sight.

"Well?" she finally asked, pausing at a window. It was night and with the darkened hallway they could see the city beyond their headquarters. It seemed so quiet, so civilized in comparison to the hellish landscape of the battlefield they had left behind just hours ago.

"You were right. It was his Fusion." He looked down at her, meeting her hard expression. "Never seen anything like him, Mandy. He can talk, he's as obsessive as our version of him, and he's independently ambitious of Fuse."

Her sharp mind caught the implications instantly. She folded her arms across her chest, eyes narrowing. "Dexter is dangerous enough as it is. An evil twin that wants to set up its own power base could be bad for us . . . or Fuse."

"Or both," he added. "That Infection Number Five mentioned? The Fusion released it. I've never seen an Infections spread so fast. That entire steel mill and probably half the valley is slag by now."

Mandy nodded. "We'll keep an eye on it," she said, then paused. "Well?"

He knew what she wanted. "He was tortured."

A small sound like a hiss escaped her and without a word she turned and began walking deeper into the building, leaving him to catch up. As much as Mandy was capable of liking anyone, she liked the members of the command team surrounding her. Or if like was too strong a word, she valued them for their capabilities, and Dexter was very, very capable. Every dictator needed a mad scientist or two working for them and the redheaded genius filled that role for her very nicely. The KND were the backbone of this operation. Ben10 and Jack were her front-line generals. The Powerpuff Girls were her shock troopers. Mandy was the mastermind behind this war effort, and she did not appreciate people messing with the things she considered her own, lease or no lease. If Fuse and his minions wanted scientific geniuses, they could darn well get their own.

She drew a deep breath, enjoying the wave of fury that filled her and taking it out on the elevator controls. "He's tough," she finally commented. "He can take it." It was as close to a compliment as she was capable of getting.

"I hope tough is enough," he muttered, quoting Buttercup.

"Huh. What else?"

The lift doors opened and they stepped in. Mandy pressed a button and the elevator plunged downwards. Ben knew her well enough by now not to take offense for his friend's sake at her callous statements – he knew she thought highly of Dexter. Without his talent and the facilities he had leased to Earth's combined forces, they would have been in far worse condition and position to resist Planet Fusion's invasion. This was just Mandy being herself and while he didn't actually like the girl, he had a world of respect for her and everything she was doing for their side.

"The Fusion used a mind-probe on him. More than a few times, actually, according to Number Seventy-Seven. He was rabid about the Omnitrix."

"Did it get what it wanted?" demanded Mandy, refusing, as always, to grace Fuse's diabolical creations with so much as a gender. Her eyes automatically flicked to the Omnitrix on his wrist. Dexter's desire to find out what made the alien device tick was well documented, and clearly his double not only understood the awesome potential of the Omnitrix but he had inherited Dexter's fixation with it.

"There was nothing to get," Ben replied. "Do you actually think I'd put him or me in that position? C'mon, Mandy!"

"Spit it out. Rumor has it you let the whiz kid have some unsupervised play time with that thing."

"I was talking about my watch the other day in the canteen, not the Omnitrix. Dex and I set the whole thing up beforehand. We figured we were being watched, so we gave our spy enough rope to hang himself with."

She looked simultaneously satisfied and miffed with him. She was a micro-manager on such a grand scale that being out of the loop on the least detail was enough to get her riled. In this case, however, Mandy knew that even if she had known of their intent she would have approved and the outcome would have been exactly the same. No one could have suspected that the Doppleganger would strike from below.

"Next time you plan something like this, I want to know. Got it, Tennyson?"

"Got it. So tell me . . . was Dexter right?"

The lift came to a halt and with a smirk and a sharp gesture she motioned him to accompany her. The doors opened and she led him down a dimly-lit corridor. Through several armored doors, past security checkpoints, past silent KND guards, she escorted him deep into the building's rarely-used detention block. She spoke a few quiet words with the officer in charge before the young boy brought them to a specific holding cell. The boy keyed the control panel and the door whisked aside.

Bloo, frightened and alone, looked up with a gasp.

"I'd say that's a yes," growled Mandy.