Just a reminder: reviews make me squee!
Also, on 8/16/10, I fixed a couple silly typos in chapters one and two. Nothing major. Enjoy!
The Damocles Solution 3
The early morning was clear and sunny. The barometric pressure surely had risen overnight. The humidity was relatively low for a change, and the clock sounded its rousing alarm precisely at 7AM.
And most importantly, he was the only one up so far.
For Egon, at least, it was a perfect morning.
A perfect morning…to do more work.
Egon slipped on his spectacles and modified his attire into something more suitable for public presentation. He had already worked through the majority of the previous night on his latest upgrade of Winston's proton pack. It turned out to be a long project in itself, taking into the early morning hours and giving very little time for sleep. This, granted, had an ever-so-slightly souring effect on his temperament. Perhaps the rest of his confidantes would disagree about the "ever-so-slightly" description, but nonetheless it was so. He knew he could manage as long as there were not too many calls about demi-gods attacking major arteries into and out of the city. A few minor demons or simple class IIs, especially if ProbeCorp needed further assisstance or had important information regarding their own minor scourge, would be acceptable as a priority adjustment. He also made a mental note to educate Winston as soon as possible on how to use the new upgrade, and even sooner than that, teach Ray how to recalibrate the finished pack once the new feature is used.
As he entered his lab, the quiet combined hum of the gyroscopic stabilizer, the interspatial ectoplasmic extractor, and the interdimensional gateway interface became his mantra, assissting him in clearing his mind so he could work on the most delicate wires and connection of the endoectoplasmic optical-to-resonance imager, a request of Ray's, already a work in near complete progress.
Picking up the soldering tools, he inspected the interior of the imager. Hmm, a little too much metal there, that wire could use a backup grounding, there I see a potential problem
It was a wonderously productive state of mind to be lost in, and before he knew it, an hour and a half had gone gracefully by. Hmm, he stopped for a moment and thought, Janine is rather later than usual. She likes to get all the paperwork sorted from all the lawsuits we create before the phones ring. Though for a moment he remembered that the rest of the guys loved to tease him about that, convinced she had some ulterior motive for stopping in so early. Ah, but she said she'd be in when she could today—she was having problems with her car and needed to make a morning appointment for repairs because that's what the closest garage would take.
Anyway.
Just a few more wires, and I can begin adjusting the camera. Here, there is a circuit that I think should be made of something less heat-conductive. I'll have to order a different part. That will set me back a few days, but I can do this later. However, maybe I have something that I can repla—
Egon was cut off mid-mental-sentence by a mind-numbingly awful noise. A thunderous, rhythmic rumbling which shook the very table he was working on, a noise which he knew would made it excruciatingly difficult to concentrate on such delicate wiring.
He instinctively reached over to pick up the PKE meter. No supernatural signal.
Knowing that this was not the work of a spirit, and also knowing it was definitely not the sound of Slimer's stomach, or whatever it was, rumbling (which was provably a bit lower decibel level than this awful cacophony), he hurried to the window. The windowframe shook and strained as he leaned against it with his hands.
He looked down to the street…and sighed, exasperated, with a tad of growl thrown in there to boot. A group of neighborhood teens was having a friendly-seeming boombox showdown. One gigantic music box sat on the ground, the other slung across another rather sturdily-built teen's shoulder. That would have no doubt, he thought, completely toasted his cochlea after a few minutes.
He returned to the lab, resigned to work in misery with the unneeded background noise. Must finish this project, as then I can potentially alter this device for use in combat.
Not a second went by after seating himself, and someone zoomed out of the bunk room and down the stairs. Egon listened for a moment. Peter, he thought to himself. Yes, this definitely was Peter, as in a few moments, Egon could barely make out a few choice words inbetween the thundering beat of both boomboxes together.
"OH YEAH!?"
"WELL YOU CAN…..!"
"WHAT!"
"NO I AIN'T, PAL!"
"TAKE THIS!"
Egon sat back, relieved. Peter would handle this, in his own way. Now I can get back to this stubborn wire setup.
Just about to touch red hot solder to delicate wire, a third music system booted up, blasting so loud that the other two systems together couldn't even be heard.
Egon stopped, the soldering tool a half-centimeter before contact, gritting his teeth.
He actually…turned on…the stereo…in Ecto-1!
The only thing he could do until either the boys went away, or the police took them and Peter away, was wait. He held his head with a hand, and irritably tapped his fingers against the desk.
Soon enough, all was quiet again before the police were summoned on anyone, as Peter seemed to be able to push the envelope as far as it could go without tearing it.
Egon's nerves had only begun to clear. He had absolutely no idea how Winston or Ray slept through that, however, he surmised that if he himself were fast asleep, sometimes the only thing that would rouse him would be the firehouse alarm. Trained like Pavlov's dog, we are.
Peter stepped by the lab, stopping to casually lean against the door and slap his hands together as if finished with a dirty job. "I tell ya, Spengs. These kids nowadays are such pansies. Their mommies and daddies musta spent big bucks on their little TriBeCa blasters, and Ecto-1 blew 'em away just with the few modifications that Ray and Winston did on 'er." He yawned, statisfied. "One more victorious battle in the war against losing the planet to a weaker generation. I'm goin' back to bed, cuz' that really interrupted my beauty sleep. Nighty-night!"
Nighty-night, at 8:30 in the morning. That's Peter in a short sentence.
The wires. Have to get back to the wires.
Relatively settled with soldering tools in hand again, he refocused.
Where was I? Oh yes. I wonder if there is something around here with which I can replace this circuit. Should I use aluminum? Copper? Maybe steel. Aluminum wouldn't be durable enough. It'd probably-
Something small and white shot by his eyes, and he saw it long enough to tell that it was a small moth.
Hmm. Prodoxus Dicipiens.
Nevermind that. The metal on this circuit would probably break under the extreme thermopressure of the system. I calculate that any other metal would last twi-
SPLAT!
…went something on the side of his head, causing him to grunt and almost knocking him off the chair. After recovering, he gritted his teeth and felt his head to try and determine what the Very Offensive Stimulus was caused by.
He didn't have to do any more than feel the slime slowly stretching between his hand and his head. And he knew his entire left side was covered in it.
Glaring across the room, there was Slimer—babbling incoherently, flailing his arms, bent on killing the same intrusive moth that flashed by his eyes earlier.
"Slimer…!"
Slimer only had to look at the Glare of Death once from the tall scientist. For all of Peter's yelling and stomping and chasing and fist-waving, it never had the effect of even half of the silent rage of one of Egon's glares. Slimer made a last-ditch, desperate attempt to snatch the moth out of the air, and, succeeding, floated out of the room with a valiant effort to say a cheery "sorry, Egon!" in babble-ese.
Egon was thoroughly annoyed now. There would be no way to do continue this project covered in slime, lest it drip into the sensitive contacts and destroy the whole system. Besides, it was just gross. He placed the tools down, and set off for the shower.
After cleaning off the slime and changing onto a clean tee, he steeled himself, teeth gritted, to focus on the wires.
Minutes went by, and the last contact just refused to hold. He berated himself for not using a stronger substance, thinking instead the quickness of the heat transfer would compensate for the lightness of the metal. He had to take the whole thing out, and after doing so, proceeded to start over, the setback costing him at least another thirty hours' time.
He figured beginning to work on the imaging camera would give the impression of progress, therefore calming his nerves. Placing the camera in front of him, he went to pick up the soldering tools.
SLAM!
…went something on his left again. He noticed it was, granted, more solid than Slimer, and smelled leagues better. However, it still broke his crystalline concentration, and this time, he had had enough.
"JaNINE!" he found himself saying with a raised voice, his neck encircled in her arms.
Oblivious to his discomfort, Janine released him and put a book right in front of his nose. "I couldn't wait to show all you guys! I just got this in the mail! Look Egon. It's another book signed personally by Doctor Phil Dendron! And he wrote a letter, saying he gave me a free permanent subscription to his magazine and club too! And the letter sez that…"
Egon grabbed a hold of the book and lowered it so he could talk to Janine's face instead of the publication. "Janine, I usually have to tell Slimer not to interrupt me when I'm doing delicate work. You barged in and I was ready to begin soldering!"
Janine was taken aback this time by his impatience. "So…you're not too excited about Dr. Dendron's stuff?" she said innocently.
"NO, not as of this moment."
She put a hand on her hip. "Well, I'm SORRY! Is there any way to fix it fer ya!" she said, half-sincere, half as annoyed as he was.
"Yes. Simply do not touch me and that will be an excellent start."
"Well, FINE." She said, her voice weakening despite her anger. "From now on I will work toward a more professional relationship, and I will await at my desk to be graced with your presence…Docta Spengler! "
She turned on her heel, and sped with heavy footsteps down the stairs.
Egon had to pause for a moment. He could have sworn he saw her wipe her face with her sleeve after she turned away. I think I did something outrageously stupid just now, he thought. And I calculate that there's probably not a solid test in any known textbook to prove that theory.