A/N: Thanks to Zarius and Darster, our two faithful reviewers.
The Origin of MASK
Chapter 2: A Potential Toy Tie-In, Part 2
By Qweb and/or Jelsemium
Matt shut off the computer. "There you have it gentlemen — and robot. There isn't a police force on this planet who knows as much as you do about Venom."
Alex looked at Matt with sharp suspicion, "Just what do you plan on doing with this material now that you've collected it.
"I plan to use it, of course," Matt said softly.
Scott and Bruce sat up looking very interested. But Alex, older and wiser in the wicked ways of the world, felt suddenly sickly afraid for this young man he thought of almost as a son.
"You can't be serious," he almost whispered.
Matt looked his father's old friend straight in the eye. There was no defiance in his gaze, just calm, cold determination. "I am, Alex."
"But …"
"No buts. Do you know what they did with the $100,000 check they got from my company? They deposited it a bank and used it as collateral on a loan for five times that amount. After all," Matt said bitterly, "anyone who does business with Matt Trakker must be a good credit risk. They used my name to defraud that bank of half a million dollars!"
Matt was trembling with fury as he thought about it. Alex knew that, in a generally smudged world, Matt had kept his name free of dirt. Trakker had an old fashioned sense of honor in which his good name meant everything. The Brit thought of Othello, "He who steals my purse, steals trash. But he that filches from me my good name, robs me of that which not enriches him and makes me very poor indeed." He knew Matt would not been nearly so angry if Venom had just stolen the money.
"Can't you turn your information over to the authorities," Alex said desperately.
"To whom, Alex? There's no police force in the world equipped to handle a car that turns into a tank, a motorcycle that can fly or a mask that gives its wearer the strength of ten."
"You're not equipped to handle it either, old chap," Alex said softly.
"Not now, maybe. But I can be," Matt said. "I've got the money and the know how to design and build masks and vehicles to counter theirs. And I have access to labs where I can obtain some of the most advanced weaponry available, though I don't know that some of my friends consider their gadgets 'weapons'. I already have a computer system that can keep track of Venom's movements anywhere in the world. I can fight them, Alex, like nobody else can."
"You can't do it alone."
"No," Matt said softly. "I could use your help. Yours and Bruce's and more."
"Is this the special project you were talking about?" Bruce asked. At Matt's nod, Bruce thought briefly of his charbroiled lab, and told Matt to count him in. Matt was still locked in a stare-down with Alex.
"What about it, Alex? You were a commando once, and you practically invented modern computers. I could use you."
"That was more years ago than I care to remember, Matthew. I'm not even in the computer business any more. I run a bloody pet shop, remember!"
"And you're so bored you milk poisonous snakes just for the heck of it, even when no one plans to make anti-venom."
Matt smiled at his old friend. He knew Alex too well, knew he had a craving for action that an occasional golf game simply couldn't satisfy. Alex eyed the younger man like a dieting chocoholic offered a hot fudge sundae. He knew he shouldn't, but he wanted it so bad.
"If we go after Venom," Bruce said softly, "We could use a specialist in snakes."
The Brit's mouth twisted in a wry grin as he realized he was caught. "I suppose someone has to look after you youngsters," he said drily.
Scott cheered in excitement. "Yayy! We're going after Venom!"
"Not you, young man," Matt and Alex said in unison.
"That goes double for me," T-Bob said with a shudder. "I want to stay far away from anyone called Mayhem!"
"Good," Matt said. "And keep Scott with you when you do."
"Awww, Dad! I miss all the fun!"
Matt and Alex exchanged amused glances.
"He's just like his father," the bald man said. "Stubborn, determined and bound to get into mischief."
"This isn't a game we're playing, Scott. This is deadly serious business," Matt said sternly.
"Can't I at least help?"
"We'll talk about it later."
"Look out Venom, here we come!" cried the irrepressible youngster.
Bruce chuckled. "The thief who hides his loot in a snow bank forgets that summer must come."
"What was that all about?" Alex asked.
"I mean," Bruce translated for himself, "that Miles Mayhem didn't know what he was getting into when he messed with Matt Trakker."
"I'll say 'Amen' to that!" Alex said fervently.
When Alex had leaped to answer Scott's mayday, he hadn't expected to be away for any length of time. Realizing this "anti-Venom" program was going to take awhile to get off the ground, the Brit flew back to Florida to make long-term arrangements for someone to take care of his animals and run his Pet Emporium.
Alex knew that Bruce Sato planned to pack up lock, stock and baggage and move to Boulder Hill to set up shop as an independent toy designer. Alex had imagined that the toy designing would take a backseat to more serious designing for a while. So, when he returned to the newly completed computer room in the Trakker mansion — Ward needed the one at work — Alex was surprised to find Bruce and Matt bending over a table full of miniature vehicles.
"I thought we were going into the crime fighting business, chaps. What's with the toys?"
Matt laughed. "They're not exactly toys, Alex," he said. "Call them … prototypes."
"We thought that since this project began with a toy tie-in, we might as well continue in that vein," Bruce said.
Matt squinted down at the toys and picked up a big rig truck cab.
"Bruce intended these as Converta-Cars; but take out the robot mode, add some real armament and we think they might just serve our purpose," Matt said.
Bruce indicated the small truck saying, "This will be our rolling command center. Your headquarters, Alex, with a computer room linked by satellite to the main one here. The rear section can separate to form a second vehicle."
Bruce tugged at the back of the truck cab, where the trailer would normally be attached, and it came away from the main cab. With unrestrained enthusiasm, he pointed out the laser guns concealed as diesel exhaust stacks, as well as the cannons, anti-aircraft guns and the armored, extendable front grill which could withstand a direct laser blast and which could be used as a battering ram.
Alex was fascinated by the machine's brute strength. "That's no truck. It's a monster, a … a rhinoceros!"
Bruce chuckled. "I dub thee, 'Rhino,'" he said, tapping the semi cab on each fender with his forefinger.
"That's a fearful lot of weaponry you have there. Is it all really necessary?" Alex asked.
"I think so," Matt replied.
"The bee steals pollen from every flower in the meadow, but it takes a bear to raid the beehive," Bruce said.
Alex sighed heavily and aimed a pleading look at Matt.
"He thinks so, too," Matt explained.
In the new computer room, hidden behind a false wall in the heart of Trakker mansion, the three men felt safe to discuss their audacious scheme for combatting the most dangerous criminal organization in the world. They didn't realize that their plans had already been discovered and they were under surveillance from above. Two pairs of beady eyes watched through the skylight as the men turned back to their "toys."
"What are these others?" Alex asked, turning his attention away from "his" Rhino with an effort.
Bruce pointed out a jeep that launched a motorboat from under its hood, a pickup truck that bristled with armament and a motorcycle that could sprout rotors and fly like a helicopter. These were the ones under construction, he explained, along with a sports car whose model he picked up and cradled protectively.
"What does that one do, Bruce?" Matt asked curiously.
Bruce just grinned at him. The Japanese inventor had been evading questions about that particular prototype all morning. "Allow me to keep a few secrets, Matt. This car is for you. Do not open until Dec. 25."
Matt had to laugh, but his curiosity was raised to fever peak when Bruce kept the car in his hand, refusing to let Matt so much as touch it. Instead the toy designer talked about other vehicles which were still on the drawing board: a Corvette that became a seaplane, a drag racer that literally flew, a racing stock car that doubled as a submarine, a van with a rising gun turret and a van that launched a small plane.
There was also a supersonic transport jet that could land on water or on the ground, could cruise at very slow speeds and was entirely operated by computer. It was designed to fly men and equipment anywhere in the world.
"Very impressive," Alex said in appreciation. "But aren't you chaps getting a trifle carried away? The three of us can only drive one vehicle apiece, you know. And none of us can fly a helicopter."
"Well, I wasn't planning on doing this all by myself, Alex," Matt said. "I was planning to recruit a team of volunteers to carry some of the load. A nice, even dozen, I guess. Only… I'm not sure how to go about it."
"Trust to serendipity, Matt," Alex said.
"Huh?" said Bruce.
Alex was delighted to have turned the tables on the proverb-happy oriental. "Serendipity, old chap. It's chance meetings and happy happenstance. It's the ability to make fortunate and unexpected discoveries by pure accident," Alex said.
"But how reliable is it?" Matt said drily.
"It brought Bruce storming into your office, didn't it? Matthew, if the time has come for your idea — and the more I think about it, I believe it has — then serendipity will follow you," Alex said sincerely.
"You don't mind if, in the meantime, I go hunting for the type of person I think might be of help to us, do you? You know, a race car driver or a helicopter pilot, for instance."
"Certainly not, my boy. The Lord helps those who help themselves. But tell me, just what sort of person are you looking for?"
Matt had done a lot of thinking about this. "I need multi-talented people, people with a number of specialties, such as your computer expertise and your experience with animals. And of course we need the physical 'combat' skills, expert driving and flying. And I want what Dell Shannon calls 'the born cop,' the sort of person who sees trouble and jumps toward it instead of sensibly running away. But most of all, I'd like to find people with a sense of honor a … a feeling of responsibility toward others."
"Brave, honest, loyal, trustworthy … " Alex summed up ironically. "Now where have I heard all that before? So in essence you're looking for an overgrown Boy Scout with strong suicidal tendencies?"
Matt's laugh was cut short as a shadow fell across the skylight, immediately followed by a scream from the roof.
"T-Bob, look out!" The tubby robot had leaned too far out, overbalanced and fell, with a crash, through the skylight, dragging the boy with him.
"Scott!" Matt shouted in desperation as he saw his son plunge toward the floor.
As the men dodged flying glass, T-Bob extended his telescoping arms in a frantic grab at the edge of the skylight. He caught it, and Scott caught him. They dangled there, in the center of the room, just above a table full of hard-edged models and sharp shards of glass. Scott felt like a yoyo at the end of a string.
Scott looked at his father's face, which was almost white with the anger born of a shocking fright.
"Uh … Hi, Dad!" the boy said brightly.
Before Trakker could force a strangled sound past his paralyzed throat, T-Bob lowered Scott to the floor.
"Gee, Dad," the boy chattered nervously. "If you're looking for an overgrown Boy Scout, why don't you try Hondo? He's the biggest … "
"Don't try to change the subject, young man!" Matt found his voice in a parental roar. "What were you doing on the roof?"
"Would you believe we were trying to catch a pigeon for dinner?" T-Bob put in brightly.
The look Matt gave him almost melted the robot's circuits.
"No, I didn't think so," T-Bob said in a subdued voice.
"We wanted to find out what was going on," Scott admitted. "Only T-Bob got clumsy again."
"Heights always make my transistors spin," the robot muttered.
Ignoring the glass, Matt got down on one knee to look his son straight in the eye. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders. His voice shook from reaction. "My god, Scott! Don't you realize you could have been killed! Promise me you'll never do anything like that again. Promise!"
Some of Scott's schoolmates were envious that his father didn't believe in corporal punishment. But Scott would have rather been beaten with a club than have his father look at him like that, with the horrible, haunted expression in his eyes that Scott could only remember seeing once before, the day his mother died.
The boy threw his arms around Matt's neck. There were tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad. Honest," Scott said into his father's shoulder. "I won't climb on the roof again. I promise." Then he stepped back and looked at Matt. "But it isn't fair. I was in the beginning of this, just like Bruce. I want to help."
"You'll be safer if I keep you out of this," Matt said grimly.
"I'm not so sure of that," Alex interjected, surprising both Matt and Scott. "I remember a boy like him once. A tow-headed hellion, never could take no for an answer. Always had to know what was going on."
The tow-headed elder Trakker glared at Alex.
"Seriously, Matt. I don't know how you're going to keep the lad out of it when we'll be working here in his own house. And his curiosity will lead him to perhaps more dangerous investigations unless he's allowed to participate."
"There is another point," Bruce added, as he swept broken glass into a compartment in T-Bob which the robot obligingly opened for him. "You have always traveled everywhere with your son. It is common knowledge. One of the points of our battleplan has been that you can travel all over the world, wherever Venom activity is suspected, without looking suspicious, because you have business and charitable interests almost everywhere. But the zebra who wants to remain with the herd had better not wear the tiger's stripes."
"What's he going on about this time?" Alex demanded.
"He just means that if I don't want to look suspicious, I'd better not change my habits. And that means taking Scott with me, even if it's dangerous," Matt said softly. "I don't know whether it's worth it."
Matt looked at his 10-year-old and hesitated on the brink of giving the whole idea up. The others all knew it. Bruce held his breath. Alex didn't know whether to be relieved or sad. T-Bob prayed for Matt to say, "forget it." But Scott was in an absolute panic that the greatest adventure he'd ever dreamed of would be canned before it even got started.
"Dad, you told me that you've always got to do what's right, even if it's unpopular. Isn't it the same if it's dangerous," Scott argued. "Think of all the people Venom's hurt, maybe some of them were kids, too. And when they burned down Bruce's lab, they didn't care if the whole neighborhood caught on fire. You've got to stop them, Dad. You're the only one who can!"
Matt saw through to his son's true motive; but the boy's words hit home anyway.
"You're right, son," he said as he relaxed. "But if I let you help, do you think you can follow orders and stay out of trouble?"
"Sure, Dad," the boy said blithely.
Matt doubted it, but it was the best he could manage.
"So, who's this Hondo chap?" Alex asked.
"Huh? Oh!" Matt remembered Scott's hasty words with difficulty. "Hondo MacLean. You know, that's not a bad idea, Scott."
The boy looked gratified at having helped already.
"So who is he?" Alex asked again.
Matt looked his old friend straight in the eye and said, without any inflection at all, "He's Scott's scoutmaster."
Bruce snorted, but Alex's eyes sparked alight.
"Serendipity!" he murmured.
"Maybe you're right, Alex," Matt admitted. "We certainly did receive Hondo's name," he looked up at the gaping skylight, "out of the blue."
"Tell us about this Hondo person," Bruce said.
"He's really neat," Scott said eagerly. "And he's strong. About the strongest person I've ever seen."
The others looked at Matt for confirmation.
"I'd have to agree with that," the eldest Trakker said.
"Remember the time he lifted the camper out of the mud?" Scott said.
"How could I forget?"
Bruce frowned.
"Hondo MacLean," he said slowly. "Why does that sound familiar?"
"I didn't know you were a football fan, Bruce," Matt said by way of a hint.
Bruce's eyes opened wide.
"Oh! That Hondo MacLean."
Alex looked at them impatiently. He'd been in the U.S. since he was a young man, but he never had understood the American fascination with the controlled chaos of U.S. football.
"Would you chaps mind explaining?"
Matt had a sudden, sharp flashback to half a dozen camping trips when he and Hondo had sat around the campfire swapping life stories after the young scouts were tucked into their sleeping bags. He could almost smell the wood smoke and taste the day-old coffee from the bottom of the pot, as he began his story.
"Hondo came from a middle class family, but he knew there wouldn't be enough money to put him through college. And he decided when he was still in grade school that he was going to college, so he used his natural athletic skills to fulfill his dream. In high school, he led a previously mediocre football team to league championships two years in a row. He was All-League and All-State both those years. He was also All-League in basketball and track. And he won a Golden Gloves medal."
Matt shook his head in wonder, "All that, and he graduated with honors, too. Needless to say, all the colleges were after him. And he chose the best one — not the school with the best football team — the best school. But while he was there, it had the best team in its division. Sportswriters claimed he was practically a player-coach, that he had a grasp of strategy and tactics that a general would be proud of. I know he plays those war games where history buffs replay famous battles to see how new factors might affect them. Anyway, Hondo had the ability to weld a bunch of guys into a smoothly functioning team. Despite his outstanding personal talents, he was always a team player, never a grandstander. After graduation, he received offers from pro teams, some incredible offers, but he turned them all down to teach social studies at Boulder Hill Junior High School!"
"I remember seeing his 'farewell speech' on television," Bruce said. "He thanked everyone, his family, teammates, coaches. He thanked them for the opportunity they gave him to go to school. He said football was a great game and he loved it; but it's only a game. 'And a man can't play games for the rest of his life.' I remember the newscaster couldn't understand why someone would give up all that money just to teach school. But I understood."
"Hondo told me the most influential people in his life, outside his own family, had been teachers," Matt said. "He said he can't imagine any more important job than preparing young minds for the future."
"In other words, he's the very overgrown Boy Scout we're looking for," Alex said with a smile. "It should work. Since he's a junior high teacher, he's used to working in dangerous situations."
"But will he be interested?" Bruce asked.
"There's only one way to find out," Matt smiled. "But before we try to recruit anyone new, I think we ought to be sure exactly what we have to offer."
"Yes. Well, I've been meaning to ask you: you've got these vehicles to counter Venom's vehicles, but what are you going to do about their bally masks?"
Matt and Bruce exchanged delighted grins. They'd been just waiting for Alex to ask.
"While Bruce was busy with the vehicle prototypes, I was doing a little tinkering of my own," Matt said.
He opened a cupboard and pulled out two masks. One was orange and reminded Alex vaguely of a frog. It had round goggle eyes and two gray cables, or possibly air hoses, running from the "mouth" to the sides of the throat. The other mask was red and maroon in color with a gray grill for a muzzle and two high ridges on the skull which ran down to form square eye pieces.
Alex realized that the masks matched in color the jumpsuits the others were wearing — tan and orange with a gray chest piece for Bruce, brown with a padded red and maroon vest for Matt.
His guess was confirmed when Bruce picked up the orange mask and fitted it on. It slipped over his head easily and connected with a distinct click to the neck of the jumpsuit.
"Allow me to demonstrate," Bruce said, in a voice subtly changed by electronics but only slightly muffled by the all-enveiling mask. "Lifter, on!" he commanded.
Through his specially treated lenses, Bruce could see rings of light encircle the Brit. Tilting his head, Bruce raised the rings toward the ceiling.
Alex didn't see a thing, but he felt his feet lift from the floor as he floated gently toward the broken skylight. Scott stared, then clapped his mouth shut when he realized he was gawking. He tried to pretend he'd seen Alex walking on air every day of his life.
"I say!" Alex exclaimed. "Matthew, is that one of those anti-gravity plates of yours?"
"The same principle," Matt agreed. "Though Lifter doesn't float itself, it reaches out and grabs other things."
Bruce set Alex down gently.
"A rather pleasant sensation, that," the older man commented when his feet were firmly planted on the floor again.
Bruce shut Lifter off and removed the mask.
"There's one thing I don't understand, Matt," he said in puzzlement.
"Only one?" Alex muttered, mostly to himself. "All these gadgets are getting me bloody well confused."
Bruce ignored Alex's plaint, which, from the enjoyment shining in the older man's eyes, was obviously nonsense, anyway. The toy wizard addressed Matt.
"This anti-gravity lifter could be very valuable in many fields — construction, rescue. How is it that you have kept it a secret?"
"Because it bloody well doesn't work, of course," Alex said.
"But it did work," Scott protested.
"No, Alex is right, Scott. It doesn't work properly," Matt said. "It draws a tremendous amount of energy, Bruce. More than is generally available or affordable. It would cost a lot less for a construction company to use an ordinary crane for a week, than to use Lifter for one day."
Bruce looked at the Lifter mask in bewilderment. "Then why does it work here?"
"I suspect because Matt used one of his supercharged, double-life batteries, eh chap?"
"Five of them," Matt corrected. "They provide enough power for Lifter, all right, and they don't weigh as much as you'd think. But they don't work right, either," Matt said hastily as Bruce opened his mouth.
Matt got a small penlight out of another cupboard and handed it to Bruce.
"Here, turn this on. It's got one of my batteries in it."
The small flashlight weighed next to nothing in Bruce's hand. It didn't even have as much heft as a penlight loaded with an ordinary Double A battery. The oriental obediently turned it on.
He gasped as the device seemed to double in weight, and then grow heavier and heavier still. His arm sagged, all the energy draining away from it. A feeling of numbness spread to his shoulder.
Matt snatched the penlight away from Bruce and snapped it off.
Bruce looked at the innocent-seeming device with astonishment as he tried to massage the feeling back into his arm.
"Sorry," Matt said. "But it's hard to describe unless you've experienced it. The battery in that thing is nearly exhausted. But its magnetic properties are such that it tries to keep on working, and it draws on the natural electrical energy of the human body to do it. If it went on long enough, it could kill you."
"I can see that you would not want to market that for use in children's toys," Bruce said carefully. "
"No, they're not ready for general use," Matt said. "But they're safe enough as long as they're kept fully charged and only used for short bursts of energy."
"Then the masks will have to be recharged before each use," Alex pondered, hand on his chin. "Do you know how we're going to do that?"
Matt turned to a cupboard, removed a hinged leather box, and flipped it open under Alex's nose.
"Remember this?" he said.
Bruce gasped. The multi-faceted jewel inside the velvet lined box was about the size of a child's fist. It had no perceptible color, but seemed to pulse with radiance as if it had a beating heart.
Alex picked it up gently, but with familiarity.
"The Eye of the Idol," he said reverently. "I'd forgotten about it." Alex chuckled, "Perhaps I wanted to. It totally defeated me. I never did find out the source of its power."
"Maybe you can, now," Matt suggested. "Science has come a long way in 20 years."
Alex looked simultaneously thoughtful and excited.
"Perhaps I could."
"It would be nice," Matt said wistfully. "I'd like to keep Dad's promise."
The blond man wore a faraway look tinged with sadness Alex touched his shoulder gently, drawing a small smile in response.
Bruce's wide eyes were still on the jewel.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"It is a pearl of great price and great mystery," Alex said, handing it to the Japanese inventor for study. "It is a jewel of unique composition, only one other like it that we know of. It is also a power amplifier of great strength. Put energy into it, and it can split it into separate beams from each facet; yet each beam will contain exactly the same amount of energy as the original input."
Bruce opened his mouth to protest. Alex held up his hand.
"Don't tell me that's impossible. I know it. The jewel doesn't."
"And it is also the eye of a god, and as such it has to go back," Matt said. He saw Bruce's questioning look and continued, "My father brought it back from one of his expeditions. His plane had crashed in the jungles of New Guinea."
"With typical Trakker luck, his life was saved by a native chief," Alex took up the story. "But the chief was wounded saving Andrew. Andrew nursed him back to health and they became blood brothers, or whatever the New Guinea equivalent is."
"The chief gave my father this jewel hoping he would discover the secret of its power and use it to help all mankind. Father promised he would return it someday to the idol where it belongs. But he never had the chance."
"But in the meantime we'll get some use out of it, hmmm?" Alex said, wanting to break up Matt's sad thoughts.
The younger man grinned.
"And use it to benefit mankind, too," Matt agreed.
"Everyone except Miles Mayhem," Bruce said, placing the jewel back in the box.
"I doubt if the chief would mind the exception," Alex said drily.
In the next episode:
MASK gets its acronym
and Hondo meets space aliens
in a stroke of serendipity