Note: Thanks so much to the awesome 'possum folks at Ectozone DOT com for checking out my fic chapter by chapter to make sure I got everything down correctly. You rawk! I wish I could buy each one of you a box of Twinkies!
The Damocles Solution 16.
The air was thick and humid, and smelled ever so slightly floral.
Four pairs of eyes peeked over the top of the plant box, shaded by four canvassy jungle hats.
"Dad…don't you think the hats were a little much? Most of these plants aren't even native to jungles anyway!" said Rosie Dendron.
"Rosie!" said Dr. Phil Dendron making a gesture of quiet toward the dark-haired woman aside him. "When dealing with the savage, you must prepare for the savage!"
"Phil, dear, our guest I'm sure is ready to move on to the desert room…we've been getting an education on carnivorous plants here for half an hour!" said Rhoda.
Dendron shushed them. "It's not good to agitate a true hunter! Now, ladies," he whispered intensely, pointing into the plant box, "we will shortly be able to see the crowning achievement in the evolution of plant savagery…the capture and devouring of a higher life form, by no other than the Venus Flytrap!"
Janine stared intensely at the little plant before her. She could swear she was getting a back cramp from crouching next to Dendron's carnivorous plant table for so long…musta' been five minutes already. But she still found herself intrigued, in almost a scientific way. And Dendron sounded like he could have been the star on Wild Kingdom rather than that other guy, because he made this much more interesting than it really had to be. Or probably even was.
Soon enough, she heard a buzzing, and a small black insect flew around her head.
"There! There is the prey destined for the maw of awaiting death!" Dendron's eyes went wide as he pointed toward the fly, eager with anticipation of the coming view of a meal for the little carnivorous plant.
The insect landed on the clawed leaves.
"Look! It's the final miscalculation!" Dendron said, as the leaves closed around the insect and the long spikes on either side intertwined.
Rosie and Rhoda Dendron stood up straight, finally, now that the little show was over. "Good, Phil, now let's take our guest to the next room." Rhoda patiently waited for her husband to snap out of his amazement at the capture.
Dendron's brow furrowed. "Remember Miss Melnitz, the lesson you've seen today! Keep it safe within you and use it to strengthen you in times of need!"
"Gotcha, Doctor!" she said, drawing her eyebrows in.
"Right, dad," said Rosie with a grin. "If I have the chance to choose between a pretty looking leaf and a pile of poop, I'm landin' on the thing that stinks!"
Dendron looked positively crestfallen, and Janine and Rhoda desperately tried to keep in their laughter. "Uh…Rosie…that's not..exactly…"
In the gigantic greenhouse, Dr. Dendron, his wife, daughter, and Janine moved on to a sandy-floored area with a stone path through it, surrounded by more odd looking plants of all sizes. "Now what I have here are cacti that I have transported in from many interesting areas from all around the globe. The Sahara especially. I enjoy the challenge of growing non-native species!" he said, leading them through the area.
"Wow," said Janine. "If I didn't read what I did from your books, I didn't think it'd be possible to grow things like this in the humid, rainy East Coast, especially completely unprotected from our weather!"
"Well, I do say that my values are old-fashioned, and that is what incurs my success at maintaining these difficult non-natives. No one can possibly underestimate the value of LOVE!"
Janine looked somewhat downcast at the word, and Rhoda's brow knitted in concern when she saw this.
"I got a question I've always wanted to ask you, Doctor…do you think love…is enough?"
Dendron gesticulated dramatically. "Why, what an intriguing question. And my answer is: YES! Yes, I do think it's enough. Because how canlove be defined?"
Rosie laughed. "Don't even get him started on that, or you'll be here a whole week!"
Janine turned to her with a smile as Dendron continued his external monologue.
"It's of the utmost importance in growing difficut species! You must ask yourself, Miss Melnitz…What, precisely—is—LOVE? Why, it's doing some soul searching first—can I take care of and ensure the happiness of this species? Is it unreasonable for me to do so?" He raised a forefinger. "After answering those, and deciding to take on the challenge, it becomes some very, very common sense things! It's researching what your plant needs, Miss Melnitz. Notice that I said NEEDS! Then adjusting as much as possible to accomodate that. Finding the tools, and being determined to create the healthiest environment for that species. And, if try as you might, you cannot get the plant to work with you, and it does poorly," and he added the next phrase very quickly, under his breath, "or, ahem, it grows to a monstrosity-sized nightmare and threatens to take over a major city," and then he cleared his throat, "then you must give it, and yourself, some tough love. Tough love means knowing when to say goodbye, Miss Melnitz. After all, as I write in many of my books, plants are living beings—"
"—and not guarantees," Janine finished, sadly.
Rhoda placed a warm hand on the secretary's shoulder, concerned even more now about her mood. "Phil, I get the impression we may not be just talking plants here." She turned to Janine. "In fact, my husband recently refreshed my memory about your knight in shining armor, who I assume was that young blond man at the table, the last time you all met. Why not stay here, and we can have some girl talk tomorrow? You look like you need some."
Janine waved her hands. "Oh, I couldn't stay! I feel like I'd be imposing!"
"Not at all. I said over the phone this was inevitable, and I want to give my piece just as much as my husband was able to. He'd never let it go if I didn't."
Janine sighed. "Oh, all right. Thank you so much. I'm so glad I could make this trip and see all of you!"
"A few words about some individual species here, and then…on to the tropical exhibit!" announced Dendron, pointing forward intrepidly.
A low, sighed groan was the only thing to escape the physicist as he awoke. He cracked open his eyes, and what he could see of the room while lying there went from fuzzy, to slightly less fuzzy. All he could tell was that he was much worse off since the last time he was conscious, he was lying somewhere underground, and that his glasses weren't spared after his attack. Everything was so horribly out of focus, it seemed like every wall, and the ceiling also, was a solid, fuzzy brown; however, yellowish lights were steadily glowing, giving the room a fair enough amount of illumination to tell the area was large, but not overly so.
His brow contracted. He smelled the thickness of the chilly air, and felt the cool earthy floor underneath with his cheek and the hand he could see lying in his sight. When he tried to move the hand, his wrist protested so loudly, it caused him to gasp. He had to snap his head to rest on the opposite arm; he squeezed his eyes shut, and squeezed his intact hand closed until it shook; he ground his teeth from the answering pain on not just one, but both sides now.
He could keep the sensation down to a dull roar as long as he didn't move anything, but his own inner curiosity, not to mention alarm, demanded he know more of his surroundings.
He found that the left wrist didn't protest like the right; he was able to ever so slowly hoist himself up to one arm and an elbow with gritted teeth and a grunt.
Sitting back wrestled a soft cry out of him. Every single muscle seemed to have been dug in by claws and made movement excruciating. Feeling broken stones on the ground, he started patting around with his left hand, and eventually found a crumbling stone wall to the back of this—chamber-where he was held. He backed up against it, throwing his head back, clutching his torso in an effort to brace it, trying not to gasp with each movement.
He now had a few spare moments to think about what had occurred. It was difficult. The pain from the attack was like loud, obnxious background noise, ever threatening to distract him from his thoughts. However, he was able to think clearly just enough to remember what he considered most important. The strong, odd readings from the Jormungar braziers in the room he was in before the attack, and Morgan's horrified look when Egon desperately resorted to using one of them as a weapon, meant that the braziers were definitely attuned to serve as some sort of power channel for Aracelli's supernatural abilities, which she had through her apparent worship of the leviathan, Jormungar. Destroying them would certainly null her power.
The only problem, he considered, as he shifted painfully, was either getting in touch with the rest of the men, or getting hold of a source to channel ionic energy himself to destroy those braziers.
He breathed in shallowly and slowly, and exhaled through his mouth deeply. And frustratedly.
"Good night, Dr. Spengler," said a recognizeable saccharine-sweet voice.
Through his blurred vision, he could see over the bridge of his nose what he surmised was Dolores Aracelli, calmly standing in the center of the underground chamber, and a darkness inbetween silvery glints which he recognized as her cane in front of her.
He had no idea how long she was there. He could not even say anything yet, but he saw her blur moving slightly, and heard her sighing. "I seriously hoped there would be another way to do this, however, the direct approach to resolving issues seemed so unsatisfying. So final. And, since I am speaking to someone whom I consider an equal, I am giving you the option to indulge in what promises to be a rather aspiring golden age project of mine."
"I am not interested…in any of your projects," growled Egon, glaring at her as much as he could without his glasses.
"I knew as much. I am afraid that you are too incredibly brilliant for your own good, Dr. Spengler, since it didn't take you long to discover the secret behind my staff when you used your machine without us able to discuss anything first. I will simply have to forward to extricating cooperation."
"Very efficient, as I would have refused either way."
He could see her figure stepping closer to where he was held. Now he could somewhat see the blur of her round face and some details of her clothing. She stopped at a certain point, and he could see that at her feet, swirling energy-like waves were rising and falling. There seemed to be some sort of barrier between her and himself.
"I see. And if I cannot extricate cooperation-," she said evenly.
"And you…will not," he interrupted, forcing himself to speak just as evenly.
She made a sound like a single laugh. "Dr. Spengler. We have just met, and you jump to assumptions already. The truth is, I already have things progressing in quite a pleasing way. After all, now that you are so inconvenienced, I will nonetheless resume my quest to obtain Fenrir's flute unimpeded by such silly things as checks and balances."
"Why don't you just…kill me now?" he said, closing his eyes and adjusting his position with a slight grunt. Without his glasses, his eyes were useless more than six inches away from anything in front of them, anyway.
"Because, my dear young man…when I get the Flute, you will be the first to work for me. And the rest of the world will follow easily."
He turned up a side of his mouth, in a slight snarl. "Rather illogical to keep me…as a prize or a pet while you…still have no idea where the altar is."
"Not exactly. My staff, Morgan in particular, has been working on this issue for quite a long time, and he has some connections in the demonic realm; he can convince certain powers to help him, however, he will need a very short amount of additional time finding the correct channels, as doing so is rather inconvenient."
Egon shuddered in the chilly underground air to think of how correct he was to say that Jeremy probably had paranormal assisstance in finding the altar. Maybe not through Morgan, but if he was familiar with the occult, he most certainly could find his own way.
"After all, it was possible the location of the altar was even in another realm. Until he does so, you still have the opportunity to cooperate. And, from what I understand, the rest of your business partners are rather crippled without your presence; so I have no reason to fear being found by them anytime soon."
He let out a quick, defiant puff of air; he thought it best not to say anything about the Ghostbusters-or especially Janine-at all, and leave Aracelli in her ignorance and stupid underestimation of the other three men. He thought the elder woman might be as close as she said to her goal, and could even be using this conversation, and in fact, the whole effort of keeping him alive at this point, as an opportunity to get more information about them out of him. No doubt there was an increased perceived threat due to his frighteningly accurate assumption, which he mentioned at the dinner, about using additional demonic aid to find Fenrir's altar.
"You are quite more than a prize or a pet; you are a keystone. My hope has greatly been strengthened since your arrival in this chamber."
"You put a lot of confidence…in false hope," he said, shifting a little again in discomfort, and still bracing his side.
"Then you may remain here and reconsider your foolishness of not even considering what I have to offer."
His attempts at even breathing cut through the silence as she turned to walk away. "You killed Jeremy…didn't you?"
She stopped with a scuffle, and made the single breathy laugh again. "If I was his Hearer instead of the little man that accompanied him, we would be living like gods right now. That was the sole purpose for which I so graciously taught him. However, he did the final research of the altar's location on his own, and he would have never told me the location of it had I asked him. I'm sure there was some way for him to even keep it from his little friend, to protect his sensitivities. He had, therefore, rather outlived the purpose for which I taught him."
"You couldn't manage one student…and you think you can run…the entire world. Terrible judge…of your own character, you are."
Her blur stiffened straight. "I am done chit chatting with you for now," she said over her shoulder, her tone much less saccharine, and was now starting to sound truly annoyed. "I cannot believe you are so steeped in such a horrible attitude." She made her way with her cane over to the large blackish blur in the wall, which seemed like an exit archway. "Ridiculous, when you have all the possible knowledge avaliable to you to be able to live better than a king. I made the right decision in curtailing my long-suffering patience with this issue." She made her way out of the chamber.
When he was confident that enough time had elapsed, he dug in his jacket, and pulled out the shattered communicator. After ignoring the fact that his hand and the device was now covered in blood from the simple act of reaching into his shirt pocket, he examined the communicator by holding it inches away from his eyes and forcing himself to focus on it.
He swtiched it on, and the small light on it did not register that there was power in the device. It was conceiveable that the damage was simple and reparable, but without opening up the case it was impossible to tell.
And he soon found that trying to even open the case was an effort in futility; he needed to be able to move quickly and efficiently, should Aracelli think of setting someone to guard him while she was gone, and not one inch of his body was cooperating. He needed two hands, and his useless right hand had to remain limp by his side, because one false move would cause a horrific, debilitating chain reaction of pain. He also, ideally, needed to see more clearly, and pain and blood loss aimply added to the complication of losing his glasses.
He growled, shut the broken communicator off, and dropped it aside him in frustration, and for a moment leaned his head far back against the wall.
His interest, then, was soon drawn to examining the barrier that separated him from the rest of the room. He could not see it very well where he sat, so he steeled himself, and used the wall behind him to help himself to his feet.
He practically fell next to the barrier, with a loud pained grunt. His left leg was not cooperating, either, and the force at which his knee hit the ground set off the rib pain all over again.
Ever so slowly sitting himself next to the swirling barrier, he used his still-intact left arm to support himself, and looked closely at it, getting it within an inch of his nose.
He needed to see what the barrier did. Figuring that he desperately needed to keep one side unharmed, he brought up his useless right hand, and touched the barrier with the tips of its fingers.
It felt instantly as if white-hot electricity were sent from his fingertips, through his entire body. A cry escaped from him that, when he pulled away his hand, surprised even himself as he sat there panting; it was as if someone else had done it. He felt nailed to the floor by pain for a moment all over again, fighting not to breathe too harshly. After a few minutes of recovery, he was able to look at his fingertips. They surprisingly seemed to be completely unharmed considering the reaction the barrier drew.
He prepared himself for the pain of another experiment. He reached up, and this time, tried to push his hands through the barrier. After a few seconds, he managed to do just that, but blocking the pain wrought a terrible cost, and sent him into sickening coughing fits that floored him.
Sitting back up unsteadily, he growled deeply again. That was all he could do for now…the barrier was, for now, impenetrable. Perhaps, he figured, he could seize an opportunity when one came along and escape. The only problem was finding one. He was sure this was not the Netherworld, or a similar alternate dimension; this was indeed the normal physical realm, and it was rather disgustingly comforting to know that half the battle was not having to have to figure out how any particular set of physics would help or hinder him here.
Needing something to support him, he dragged himself back to the wall, not desiring to put any unecessary weight on his leg. He took off his tie, undid a few buttons of his formerly crisp white shirt, and closed his eyes. Bracing himself again, his brow contracted, and he tried to still himself as much as possible to keep the pain in check.
She had been preparing for weeks. She saw an opportunity in the EPIC convention, and seized it. He doubted that Baranov could have had a hand in assissting her; she seemed like the type of woman that would do the work herself to gather the three of them there.
But she did, indeeed, win this particular battle in securing Ragnarock's powers for herself.
There was nothing else he could do, but lean back uncomfortably and wait for a miracle. It sickened him. Miracles were statistically improbable by their very nature.
Janine walked over to the bed, looking around at the countryish, slate blue-based room that served as one of the guest bedrooms on Dr. Dendron's property. She had been amazed all day at how modest his home was considering all that she saw today, and the expansive amount of land he owned. She saw the greenhouse, topiary garden, and Dendron had even given the opportunity to take her to a local, privately-owned apple orchard he had much of his work invested in. On the grounds near the orchard, there was the most adorable little sweet shop that sold everything from apple pies to the most delectable apple turnovers she'd ever had, and she couldn't help but purchase a recipe book in order to learn their "secret" ingredients.
It was a very interesting day. She wished that Dr. Spengler could accompany her here, however, she remembered, with an inexplicable sudden chill, that he had important business elsewhere. And she still had some guilt to wrangle out of him yet.
She ignored the chill. She'd have one every time he left the firehouse if she didn't, and there was only a short amount of time to wear cute, summery clothes in the temperamental East Coast weather.
Picking up a deep red rose which was on display in a white vase on her vanity, she thought for a moment how she had always preferred roses in pots and gardens rather than simply cut and given, but wouldn't argue about it if she had seen them like she had here, or received one. Which, she thought, is what made Dr. Spengler a million times more adorable to her for giving her a potted plant when he did.
She laughed. Dr. Spengler was probably being wined and dined right now, just like herself, by some deep, eccentric intellectual, in a red and black housecoat, smoking a Cuban cigar in his two-million-dollar mansion.
Biting the stem of the rose, she sat down on the bed and lowered her eyelids. "I brought you here for a most important reason, Dr. Spengler," she said, holding out her hand as if carrying a wine glass, trying to imitate the man she saw in her imagination, "what ees your opinion on…dat strange noise een my Mercedes?" She laughed out loud, taking the rose out and falling back on the bed. He'd probably even come back with a box of cigars tomorrow that he'd have positively no use at all for, she figured, and got ready to sleep.