The Damocles Solution, chapter 7.
Janine closed the door of the firehouse with a hip. "Coming!" she yelled, trying to balance the heavy stack of plant psychology books carefully in her arms. "Outta my way, Doctor Venkman," she ordered, reaching the door of the car. "Or you'll replace every single one of these books for me, complete with signatures!"
"Too bad Ray isn't here to see you the two of you off," said Winston warmly.
"But I'm sure after a few candy apples he'll realize he's just fine where he is," added Peter, leaning in the passenger window of Janine's car, then moving out of her way just in the nick of time—purposely.
"I don't know, Peter," Egon thought out loud as he waiting behind the steering wheel of Janine's car. "Faire food gets considerably more expensive every year. Soon fairegoers will have to take out small loans in order to enjoy their day."
Peter waved a hand dismissively as Janine placed her books carefully inside, climbed in and closed the door. "Aaah. He's the guest of honor every time he goes now. He gets everything for free. Maybe he can even rock the boat a little and keep the prices down for everyone. He's a Power to the People kinda guy, yanno."
Egon turned to Janine and took the car out of park. "Shall we?"
Raising her eyebrows, Janine avoided eye contact. "Yes, Doctor Spengler. We can be on our way now."
The car started to pull away, but Peter took a few steps forward, staying astride the car. "Hey! Spengs!" he called through the window.
The car came to a sudden halt. "Yes?" Egon asked with an eyebrow raised.
Peter leaned in again. "I got two words for ya when you get to the hotel, Big Guy." He pointed at Janine, to her confusion. "Hands off."
Egon sat, stunned, and ever so slightly flushed as the car idled. Janine drew back a fist, but when she let it loose, the psychologist saw it coming a mile away and dodged it with ease by leaning way back, grinning more broadly than the Cheshire cat ever could.
As they pulled away, Peter waved them off innocently. All Winston saw through the back window was Janine flailing her arms, no doubt giving Peter more than a few Brooklyn blessings.
"Yanno, I hope he can drive after that," Winston cooly observed.
Within the doors of the firehouse again, Peter yawned. He picked up a few more envelopes out of the shopping cart left there from the day before, now only about half as full as it was when it arrived. He made his way over to Janine's desk, and, to Winston's shock, sat down in her chair.
Incredulous, Winston regarded Peter, wide-eyed. "What are you gonna do? Be the temp secretary or somethin'?"
"As a matter of fact, my dear Mr. Zeddemore, yes—we will. I refuse to go through the long, arduous hiring process just to have someone answer the phones for a day or two, only to have him or her running out the door screaming their heads off, and then have to start all over again. "
"And you just don't want to have to pay anybody else."
Peter clopped his feet on her desk, knowing she wouldn't like that when she got back. "Well, yeah. That…that too."
To Peter's pleasure, the phone rang loudly and solidly thereafter. Peter removed his feet from Janine's desk, cleared his throat, and adjusted his tie. "Listen to this sales pitch," he said to Winston with a wink before picking up the receiver.
"Ghostbusters. Basic rate is fifteen hundred, return trips are free if we don't have a catch the first time. Half up front, but hey, we'll knock off a couple dollars if you're cute, female, and single...and-" the sound of a loud and very frightened voice cut him off. "Where? At the factory on South Second?…Ooooookaaaaay, but just to warn you, we're running a little low on avaliable Busters right now due to other engagements." He listened again. "Sounds like we can two-man it, which means we'll cut the price in half, but we'll only be able to take cash or check as payment, and you'll have to read and sign a short document that-"
Winston could hear the agitated caller from where he sat. "You guys! JUST GET HERE!" he made out distinctly, making Peter pull the phone away from his ear, then give the caller a terse "Okberightthere," and hanging up the phone.
"Yeesh." Said Peter as he headed lazily toward the closets.
"Aren't you gonna hit the alarm?" asked Winston dryly.
"Naaaaah. That, my friend, is a woman's work."
Winston sighed and headed over to the uniform closet himself. Janine would have his head for so many different things, all in a matter of a few minutes she's gone. Well, at least Ray'll be back tomorrow night so I don't have to deal with this myself for too long!
"Well, here we are, my man," said Winston as they pulled up to the factory doors.
"A…yo-yo factory," astutely observed Peter. He slapped his forehead, and it made a loud crack! in the Ecto-1. "Tell me, Winston, how elegant my job is. I went from body parts to kids' toys here."
"Hey! Don't knock yo-yos. Ray rolls a mean 'Walkin' the Dog', ya know."
A short, bearded man ran up to them as they exited the car. "In the factory! It's posessed! It halted production! It's destroying all the wood and string! This is awful!"
"Heeeeey," smoothly answered Peter. "At least you won't offend Pinocchio if he happens to pop in. No strings is a very good thing for him, yaknow."
"Please! Please just get rid of it!" begged the man.
They made their way cautiously into the factory. It was eerily silent; no machines were able to run while the factory still contained the entity.
Winston manned the PKE meter in Ray and Egon's absence. "Looks like a class five. According to this thing it's a pretty strong signal." He turned to Peter, concerned. "You think two packs could be enough for this?"
Peter shrugged. "I dunno. I say we give it the old Tri Kuppa Bru go. Maybe that tweaking on your gun will do the job. Did either Ray or Egon say how strong the shots were?"
"The Mad Scientist said that one shot is equal to three an' a half packs on max setting."
"Whoa. Pretty neat," Peter said, rubbing his hands together in glee. "Think of the money we can make if we can solo class fives when Spengs mass-produces those things!"
"Peter, this tech is reeeeally experimental. Let's see what it does before you start on any a' your pipe dreams."
They rounded a turn into the long packing and shipping room. "Hey! All I wanna do is make some money. I'm not asking for anything ridiculous like being made a real little boy or anything."
Winston came to a halt, putting away the PKE meter with one hand and holding an arm out and stopping Peter with the other. "Dead ahead! Comin' this way! Duck!" They hit the ground as, soon enough, a huge yo-yo rolled through the air right over them, taking the wind with it. "Dang, this new pack is kinda heavy," complained Winston.
Peter was the first to spring to his feet. "On max! Hit it now!"
Their dual beams lit up the entire factory, briefly obscuring the entity. They were sure they pumped enough energy to stun it-until they both caught each other's eyes. Something was very wrong.
They cancelled their beams, and were now looking at two separate rotating discs in the air. With unfriendly-looking, metallic-like projections coming out of the sides.
"It's stronger, and it's now split in two!" observed Winston, his PKE meter jumping.
"Well, ya know how some of these cheap toys are made. Domestics are really going downhill. I'd expect that if it were an import. They fall apart, they wear out, they're steeped in lead, they—"
"Split up! It's going after each of us now!"
With desperate hollers, they went their separate ways, each with a spinning ghostly saw blade dead set on their tails.
Buzzing after Peter, the posessed wooden disc cut through machinery, shipping conveyor belts, and stacks of shipping material with ease. Peter had to dodge and weave the whole terrifying time, but when he saw an almost ceiling-high stack of cardboard shipping boxes, he snapped his fingers and winked. Oh, yeah, leave this to Venkman! He thought.
Leaping over machinery, purposely getting to the stack of cardboard, he jumped to the top of the stack with a grunt, and up and over it he went, catching the plastic packaging to break his fall on the way down again.
It only took seconds for the entity to buzz through the cardboard, but in the processs, it sent waves and waves of pulverized material all over, creating a rather useful sight-obscuring cardboard dust cloud.
Sensing an opening, Peter opened more distance between himself and the entity, turned around on a dime and shot the pursuing entity on max yet again. His mouth fell to the floor in horror, as the shot had zero effect. "Oh noooooooo," he moaned before bolting yet again.
The two men met up in the middle of the mailing room, and the dual entities rejoined. Winston immediately noticed a change for the better in the PKE meter.
The metallic blades retracted and the giant yo-yo started rolling after them, crushing machinery in its way. "Hey! I got somethin'!" yelled Winston, guiding them through a narrow hallway.
"Pinocchio won't be here to help us today?" yelled back Peter. "You better make sure you're not lyin'! We have ways to make you tell the truth!"
They hid inside a break room, and slammed the door, locking and barracading it. The huge toy banged at the wall viciously.
"Boy! I wish the Mad Scientist were here to think us outta this mess! Aaaagh!" desperately cried Peter with a rising tone.
Winston had to talk fast; the door wouldn't hold for long. He began flipping switches on his pack, and attached the sniper scope. "He IS here…in a way," he said, pointing to the PKE meter, and then holding up his modified gun. "Okay, getting' into Egon's egghead for a sec here, I am seein' that that thing is actually weaker when it's joined together. That means we gotta keep it that way. You keep it busy for just the coupla seconds it's gonna take for me to switch this over to single shot. We can't use two streams until it's weak enough, because it'll just split again."
Peter went white as a sheet. "KEEP IT BUSY!"
"Hey, Ray handled ProbeCorp, Egon handled that thing on Fifth and I handled the one at the army training center, it's your turn, my man!"
Peter roared in rage, but still steeled himself, and ran out of the half-destroyed door. "Hey! You! Best place for you is guest thread-holder for the yearly quilting competition!" he taunted the entities.
The conjoined entities howled at the insult. They rolled down the hallway after Peter, recklessly banging and smashing the narrow hallway in their pursuit. Winston followed, still flipping switches, but easily staying out of sight due to the longer range of the modified gun.
Peter ran through the mailing room again, and, slipping on a yo-yo which had been lying on the floor, was sent flying, then sliding into the far wall with a pained grunt.
When he recovered, all he could see was a gigantic yo-yo, coming after him from precious few yards away.
With a terrified cry, Peter shrank into the wall. The entities were almost on top of him.
"Winston! This! IS! NOT! a very sexy way to die!" he yelled, becoming enveloped in the dark shadow of the oversized, posessed toy.
And suddenly, he heard a sound that resembled a lightning strike at very low pitch. The entities stopped, glowing a hot white, suspended in the air right above him, screaming and roaring in agony.
Peter used the borrowed time to scoot away from the entities' path, running toward Winston far down the hall from him.
He found Winston on one knee, the end of his gun smoking.
The glow around the entities faded out, and they sunk to the floor, exhausted. Winston stood up again, flipped more switches, and yelled a quick "Traps! Fire! NOW!"
It worked this time, the entity having been thoroughly weakened by the single shot. It was all too easy this time to guide both downward into the awaiting traps. Each one was sucked in by its appropriate trap, and the doors closed with a snap, then a steaming hiss.
Winston made a few large circles with his shoulder. "Man, Egon was right. Kickback on this this is somethin' to get used to!" Holding up a trap, he grinned broadly. "At least I know now what I'm in for!" He turned to Peter. "So…where's the next one?"
Peter 's shoulders dropped as he limped back toward the car, exhausted. "Can't we just get paid, get Ray a complimentary platinum-limited-edition-whateverdamned yo-yo and leave now?"
The tiny car zipped along the northeastern highway, heading steadily towards the Hamptons, the scenery getting more and more beautifully suburban, the stuffy city blocks becoming single-standing houses along the way, each house becoming more grandiose. Eventually, the cramped streets turned into tree-lined avenues of gate-guarded mansions of all period styles.
This was nothing new to Egon. His own parents had a home that closely resembled the more expensive domiciles that passed by them on their travels; however, he heard Janine oo-ing and ah-ing more than once as she took in the architectural beauty of each new mansion. Still looking out the window in amazement, she even once commented to him breathlessly, and also rather absent-mindedly, that she wished that she bought herself some sort of etiquette book along with that last shipmentful of mystery books she offered to order for Winston. And her girly calendar.
Egon had already removed his sportjacket, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt a bit, and rolled up his sleeves at various stoplights thoughout their travels. He was considering removing his vest next. Not only did he find the car rather cramped for his long legs and height, he found the temperature to be increasingly unbearably warm, and this greatly puzzled him; he was rather comfortable, or at least not un-comfortable, all day long. Adjusting the air conditioner again, he listened to the occasional long squeak of Janine's highlighter, which she was using to help her remember important passages of each book she reviewed when she wasn't taking the sights of the mansions or snapping her fingers to music on her headphones.
They continued on in silence; this gave Egon the opportunity to consider some sort of plan when they arrived. At least he knew where the hotel was and the dinner arrangements thereof; he had gone through so many loops and cut through so much red tape just to make sure Doctor Dendron was not only attending, but also seated next to Janine at table, he was pleasantly surprised when his request for separate hotel rooms was also fulfilled. And he almost fell over, too.
No doubt that on the first day there, and probably well into the second, his time would be used by answering hundreds of questions about his technological creations, comparing notes, and visiting other extremely prominent scientists and other cosmopolitan figures that were no doubt also lodging at the same hotel. In fact, this was one of the purposes of leaving so early—for members of EPIC to convene and have their own private seminars and discussions before the dinner, with more to follow afterward. Janine would have more than enough to look at; she'd probably be too thrilled to worry about much, since she was now able to be seated next to her literary idol, though Egon was sure that knowing Janine, sight-seeing and shopping, or at least window-shopping, would take up most of the time before the dinner.
He thought about the two figures that specifically asked about his presence there over the phone; just in the mere mention of their names, he was sure this was the entire idea behind this dinner; it was simply an elaborate excuse to get the three people that knew how to decode the Ragnarock spells and glyphs together under the same roof without causing too much suspicion. He lowered his brow in concern, and soon saw in the very short distance that their last exit was coming up.
He had to guess that Jeremy was taught by one of the elder mystics he was about to dine with; he just wasn't quite sure which one had taught him. He hadn't kept up with Tennent in years since his training, and had to this day never had an opportunity to meet Aracelli, nor ever desired to; Ragnarock was something in the darkest corner of his nightmares, and quite often making machinery at three in the morning was what kept his mind from dwelling on such things. He would make sure he found out who taught Jeremy when he got there.
Though DiTillio was very much alive, the words of Cindy's letter kept ringing in his head with the heavy weight of a changed man's final wish: "…he rests in the hope that anyone who would have access to information of this nature be granted such on the merits of his soul and personality and not necessarily on the size of his interest in the occult."
Lost in thought, he was unaware at first of Janine suddenly throwing up her hands. "I can't take it anymore!" she suddenly exclaimed.
Looking over at her for what seemed to be the first time since they left, he saw that she was shivering, swaddled tightly in his light brown sportcoat, which was obviously many sizes too large for her. The jacket was hooded over her head like a babushka. "Egon, it is absolutely freezing in here!" She reached over to the control panel and cut the air conditioner off.
He apologized profusely, and, fumbling around, finally opened the window next to him. The outside air, at this point, was measurably warmer than what was coming out of the car. Too warm for him, but that was not the issue at stake as of this moment.
Returning both hands to the wheel, he suddenly grit his teeth, and looked out the back window for a desperate second.
"Nuts."
"What?" Janine asked, worried. "Are we being followed by someone or…or something?"
"No….I—uh…I missed the exit."
Janine rolled her eyes, and flipped over to the next page in her book.