Author's foreword: This story is set in Pulp Earth, the creation of myself and Jeff Hosmer in a moderately deranged online conference. Pulp Earth has a...somewhat alternate history from ours. The history of the world will be laid out more as the series of stories proceeds, although I willingly answer questions. Some things are the same, some things are very different. It is a time for heroes. The year is 1933. The place is Jefferson, capital of the Dominion of North America... I hate high heeled shoes. People often ask me why I hate them so much, and all I can say is that they get in your way when you're running for your life like I had to last March at Ella Fitzgerald's party. I fled across the living room, staggering on those damnable high heeled shoes, trying to dig my derringer out of my purse. The blackhooded minions of the insidious Dr. Amoeba elbowed guests aside and broke expensive furniture as I ran out the door...onto the balcony. Good old Scott tripped one of the thugs, buying me some precious time. His novels are a bit cheesy, but he's a good sort. I winced when I saw them break one of his expensive wine bottles over his head. But that gave me the seconds I needed to kick off those blasted shoes and leap up onto the railing. I looked behind me, and saw to my relief this was the balcony that overlooks the Potomac. You see, the Fitzgeralds have a nice penthouse apartment in Riverside Apartments, by the banks of the Potomac in Charlestown. One side has a balcony overlooking the river. The other balcony overlooks the street. Luckily, I picked the right one. I couldn't use my derringer. People were watching, and that just wouldn't match my public image, not that leaping off the balcony would do wonders for it either.. Luckily, I had those shoes handy. I tossed one of them spike first at the lead goon. He tripped and fell on the other one. Their three companions now emerged, two of them with guns. Time for me to leave. "It was a wonderful party, Ellen! My best wishes to you and Scott! See you later!" I turned and dived off the balcony into the Potomac, tugging on my earring to alert Doc so I wouldn't have to swim all the way home. As I plummeted, I heard the sound of bullets as the goons took potshots at my falling form. I entered a diving position and ignored the bullets. Amoeba has been on hard times, lately. He hasn't been able to afford decent goons in months. Not that he's ever employed anyone who could stop me. I struck the cold Potomac waters, plunging deep into them from my inertia. Once I felt my dive slowing, I turned, propelling myself surfaceward with powerful strokes. After reaching the surface, I breathed deeply and listened. Off to the south, I could dimly hear the sound of a motor. Doc in the motorized skiff, I hoped. Or some passenger ship. Well, it was still a few miles away. Having excellent hearing like my own is a boon in my line of work. Well, maybe work isn't the right word. But it's too dangerous to be called play either. Let's just say I've had a few adventures. I began swimming south, heading for the most likely route Doc would follow from my boat dock. Living a bit out in the countryside has its advantages, but not in this sort of situation. My dress hampered my movement, but I couldn't afford to shuck it. If some other boat found me first, it would be hard enough explaining why I was swimming in the Potomac at midnight, let alone if they found me in just a bra and panties and stockings. At least I'd gotten rid of those high heeled shoes. They've got to be the worst aspect of high society. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Amoeba Attacks! By John Walter Biles A Tale of Pulp Earth. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ I swam south down the river past the lights of DC. Alexandria was off to my right, Jefferson was off to my left. I could have looked off and seen the Lee Memorial and its eternal flame down on the Mall, but what good was a war hero's memorial gonna do me in the middle of the river? I could see the lights of the two cities, a sign of the vast population of our nation's capital. Millions of people live in or around Jefferson, and it gets bigger every year. Me, I live out east of the city on a riverside estate in Prince Edward's county. Inherited it from my beloved parents, whose ancestors made a killing in growing cotton and tobacco for centuries. The Drummonds have been in Maryland since the seventeenth century. Cotton isn't king anymore, but we still live like kings. Grandfather Drummond was smart enough to see the future in industry, and invested in arms factories and textiles back around the War of 1860 with New France. I'm an only child, so I inherited all that when Mom and Dad got shot about three years ago. Now I use their wealth to support my adventuring ways, and our home to house my assistants. And to throw parties of course. I've got a family reputation to keep up. It's a nice estate, and I love our mansion. It's so antique looking. And it has plenty of space for all my toys and gizmos, not to mention the boat dock, where I keep my sailboat and my motor boat. I could hear a motor boat getting closer. Hopefully it was Doc and not some more sinister vessel. I heard a voice far off, "Pearl! Can you hear me?" I could hear him, but I knew he wouldn't hear me. Not yet. I can hear a lot farther than I can yell. And while my dark complexion has won me many flirtatious glances, many complements, and a few beauty awards, it has yet to help me show up on a moonless night in the middle of a river. Many more minutes passed, the boat drawing ever closer, and my purse trying to drag me to the bottom of the river. I should have jettisoned it, but it had my driver's license and my wallet, both of which would have been annoying to replace. Finally, I heard a voice from the boat. "Pearl! Is that you?" "In the flesh, and twice as cold and tired!" It was Doc and my boat, the Bulldog. Why Dad had named the boat the Bulldog, I'd never understand. But it was a nice boat, regardless of the name. Doc tossed me down a rope ladder and I clambered up into the boat. While I toweled myself off, Doc started the effort of getting the boat turned around. "I just about died when I started getting the alarm signal from you in the middle of the Potomac. What did you do, leap out a window into the river?" Doc spat the remains of a cigar over the edge of the boat, having apparently decided to not follow his usual procedure of just talking around it. Doc's about twice my age and weight, but most of that is muscle, which always surprises me. He's my uncle twice removed, or something. I know we're related, but geneaology isn't my strongpoint. Still, he's been living with us since I was knee high to a grasshopper. He's a technical wizard, and he helps me maintain the mansion and all the various gizmos I've installed. He's also the best motor boat pilot I know. Actually, now that I think about it, he's the only one I know. "Well, next time I'll tell Jade not to contact me at one of the Fitzgerald's parties. This is the third one I've had to flee for my life." I got another dry towel and wrapped it around me. The wind was cold on my bare arms, proving once again this was not an ideal time to be swimming in the Potomac. Doc smirked in the darkness. "She does get you in a lot of trouble." "Well, she's one of my best informants. Assuming she got away from Amoeba's goons. If not, then she was one of my best informants." I stared upstream towards the Fitzgeralds. I saw her dive into the dumbwaiter. She should be okay. Assuming she didn't get stuck, anyway. She really does need to lose some weight. "You ran away from Amoeba's goons?" Doc sounded honestly surprised. "Kinda hard to keep up a cover as a crazy society girl if I start tossing around armed men in public, Doc. There were hundreds of people, reporters, everything. It's going to be hard enough explaining why I jumped off the balcony into the river. But now I know what Amoeba's been up to lately." "I didn't think he'd ever get out of that bottle. Wasn't it supposed to be unbreakable?" "Doesn't stop someone from opening it, though. Some guy found him and opened the bottle, I guess. Now he's after Angelica Harding." The boat finished circling, and began zipping off southeastward. Far off I could see lights along the shore, marking various private docks along the river. We were beginning to leave Jefferson behind us. "He's going to kidnap Prime Minister Warren G. Harding's granddaughter?" Doc was clearly shocked by the thought. "Ex-Prime Minister, Doc. He had to resign back in 1929 when it became clear he couldn't come up with a way to deal with the outbreak of the Depression. You should know that." Sometimes it seemed like Doc hadn't really been paying much attention to the world since the Giants lost the World Series back in 1925. Getting beaten by the Des Moines Cavalliers was pretty humilating, though. One of these days I'll figure out why he doesn't bother keeping up on world events. "Anyway. He needs cash badly, so he figures he can get a nice ransom out of the Hardings. After we broke up that rum factory of his in Nova Scotia, he lost all the money he got from stealing those egyptian artifacts back in 1931." That was one of the few times I hadn't been able to stop him. It still galled me. "Shouldn't we call the Hardings or something?" I could dimly make out the dock now. "I'm going to do that. But you know Amoeba. If we rely on the police, they'll never catch him. The DBI is a little better, but not much. They'll probably think it's agents of New France, or the Wobblies, or the Nacos. Or gangsters. Hoover just loves blaming it on gangsters. They'll need help like ours if Amoeba's going to ever get caught. I'll have a briefing ready for everyone after breakfast tomorrow." Things had been dull for a while. That was going to change. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Some of you have probably never heard of the insidious Doctor Amoeba. He's a renegade New French scientist who invented a shrinking gas back in 1929 for the LaPonte Chemical corporation. They had assigned him to analzye some drug they had gotten ahold of. He spent all the money they gave him on his own project. Then the company went bellyup because the Board of Directors had been spending company funds on stock speculation. When the Stock market crashed on Black Tuesday, the company went bankrupt in about two hours time. He stole a bunch of chemicals and set out to get rich off his shrinking gas. I first ran into him in '30, when he tried to make off with the treasures of the Czars on display at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art. Czar Nicholas IV had sent the jewels on tour as a money making measure. The depression was hitting Russia hard too. Anyway, my Uncle Raymond runs the museum, and I decided to investigate. I ended up having to fight him in a blimp over the Hudson. We saved the jewels, but Amoeba got away. Ever since then, we've clashed repeatedly. I guess you could call him my archenemy. I doubt either of us actually knows the other's real name. If he heard about Jane Drummond, socialite and heiress, he wouldn't know it was really The Pearl he was hearing about. And if I heard his real name, I wouldn't recognize it. I think he's New French though. He certainly sounds like it. His main tool is that shrinking and growth gas of his. One kind makes people and things tiny, the other makes them big. He shrank me and tossed me into an ant mound one time. It's expensive to make, so he usually can't just shrink entire cities...but there was one time. Well, I'll tell you about that one some other time. He also came up with some way to treat himself so he can shrink and grow with just tiny amounts of the gas. Usually, there's a small army of goons at his command too, but he doesn't pick them very well. I can toss his usual minions over my shoulder and keep going without hardly noticing. Except when he manages to arm them with weird weapons, anyway. This latest plot of his seemed so remarkably mundane. Not to mention the question of why he picked someone so high-profile. I mean, the Hardings are rich, but there's hundreds of rich people in the Dominion. Kennedies, Rockefellers, Carnegies, Mallots, Astors, Van Stuyvants, Hoeks, and all the other rich families. Heck, he could have tried to kidnap me for about the same amount of money, and a lot less risk. He must really be hard pressed for cash. I stared at the mirror before going to bed, thinking. My face stared back at me, my long brown hair let down, hanging down to the middle of my back. I paused and took off my earrings, having almost forgotten I was wearing them. The left one is normal, but the right one has my alarm beacon. A wonder of miniaturization. I wish I had some idea how it worked. Amoeba made it for one of his agents. I think he built it by taking a huge radio set and shrinking it, putting itside the earring. The girl who used to own it is in jail now, but Amoeba got away. Well, he won't get away this time. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Well, my little dive made the society pages. Everyone thought I was so terrified by the goons that I paniced and jumped. I was happy to let them know I was still alive. When I arrived at the Harding mansion the next day, it was crawling with DBI and police. I've never seen that many cops outside a police station in my life. The Dominion Bureau of Investigation is pretty new and they still don't really know what they're doing, but I guess they can't hurt. Mr. Harding may be an ex-Prime Minister of the Dominion of North America, but he still has more pull than a lot of them have had while they were in office. I'm surprised the army hasn't dug in and the tanks been rolled out. I got out of the car and let Clay park it. Clay Carlow is my chaffeur. He's also one of my boys. No, not my child! One of my assistants. Besides being one of the two best drivers I know, he also is a pretty good scrapper and a crack shot. There were several other expensive cars parked out front. I recognized one of them, a rather battered 1930 Bentley that belongs to my cousin Sadra O'Conner. What was she doing here? She lives up in Boston, although ever since she started hanging out with that crazy professor Rex Fielding and all those other occult hunting kooks, she had a tendency to show up just about anywhere, usually with several sticks of dynamite in her purse. Why my aunt married into that family, I'll never understand. On the other hand, I suppose a lot of people might question what I've done with my inheritance also. The butler nodded. "So nice to see you again, Miss Drummond. I trust you won't be jumping off any balconies during this visit?" I laughed inanely for his benefit. "Certainly not. Not without a nice cool river nearby." I gave him a tip and headed inside. The parlor had three cops, 2 DBI agents, Senator Harding, his wife Grace, his daughter Angelica, some servant, my cousin Sadra, Dr. Rex Fielding, and some rough looking fellow who seemed quite out of place and looked like he had come to that conclusion himself. "Why, Miss Drummond, so nice to see you," Grace said. She was still a lovely woman, despite the damages that age brings. Demurely dressed as always, she had long grey hair that ran partway down her back and soft blue eyes. She bore little resemblence to Angelica, but that was because Senator Harding's first wife, Angelica's real mother, had been slain while on a mission of mercy in Belgium during the Great War. One of those dreadful Nega-Bombs had utterly destroyed the town of Charleroi, which had contained a Red Cross hospital. The worst aspect of it was that it had been misaimed and had gone too far. Those alien weapons brought the war to an early end I think, but they killed so many people. Of course, that was the idea of using them, but I don't think either side really realized how strong a Nega-Bomb really is...or how easily they could go off course and blow up the wrong thing. That had happened in 1916. Senator Harding remarried in 1919, shortly before he became Prime Minister. I think Grace was a lovely choice. Senator Harding's first marriage had been a matter of politics and family power. His second marriage was for love. I've known the Hardings for years. My father was one of the Senator's supporters back when he was alive. We were all greatful when the purchase of medical equipment in the early 1920s from the aliens saved him from the cancer that was killing him. Indeed, no legislator or executive has died in office here in Jefferson ever since the equipment was installed at the Federal Hospital back in 1923. I just wish the aliens would sell enough of the equipment that everyone could benefit, but who can understand how they think? One day they sell you a death ray laser for a old spanish dubloon, the next day they want 100,000 tons of salt for dental floss. I think they must all be crazy. But enough ranting about those obnoxious aliens. Ever since he was forced to resign by that vote of no confidence on December 31, 1929, Senator Harding has been kind of a power behind the scenes. He may represent New York, but really he represents the Conservative party. They're out of power, but not for lack of effort. After Harding had to resign, the Conservatives floundered for about two years, then the Democrats came in in 1932. Now the Prime Minister is one of Harding's old enemies, Franklin Delano Roosevelt. In fact, Roosevelt sits in Harding's old seat as a Representative from New York. I wondered for a moment if Roosevelt might somehow be behind Amoeba, then dismissed the thought. What need would the Prime Minister of the Dominion of North America have to engage in such a crazy plot as this? Not to mention, if it failed, it would ruin Roosevelt if he was behind it. Still, it could be that one of Harding's old political enemies was behind all of this. I sat down next to Angela and accepted the glass of tea she handed me. At the same time, I quietly tossed one of my tracers into her pocket. That way, even if I couldn't stop the kidnapping, I'd be able to find her again. I just hope I can figure out some way to get it back afterwards. The parts for those things are expensive! "Gee, why are there policemen everywhere?" I asked. "Did someone steal something?" I looked around the room, checking all the possible entrance routes. Of course, given Amoeba's shrinking gas, even the mouse holes could be a possible entrance route. Sadra smiled. "No doubt here to keep me safe." I laughed at that, so did most of the others, except for the scruffy fellow, who seemed to be staring over at a small side table. I glanced over there, but didn't see anything. "We had an anonymous warning that there might be some sort of trouble soon. Don't worry about it, dear. We're all perfectly safe with this many defenders." Grace smiled at me and sipped some of her tea. "Would you like some of these cookies? They're quite lovely, although I know you're not fond of raisins." I took a cookie and began to slowly nibble at it. The real question was whether Amoeba would go ahead and try, or if he would wait for a few days so that everyone assumed the crisis was past. The afternoon passed in interesting, if somewhat banal at times, conversation. Sadra told us all about her latest adventure. Some group of cultists in London had tried to curse the British library or some such silliness. I've seen a few odd things, but Sadra seems to find magic, cultists and beings from beyond time and space wherever she goes. She's got to be making some of this up...I hope. The scruffy fellow, it turned out, was her pilot friend, Bruce Olivine, who spent the entire afternoon staring around the room at various things. I suppose he's cracked from too much staring at things MAN WAS NOT MEANT TO KNOW, or something. I hope he doesn't act like that when he's flying a plane. Dinnertime rolled around, and Grace and Angela retired upstairs to freshen up a little before dinner. Sadra joined them, but I stayed downstairs with Senator Harding, Dr. Fielding, and Mr. Olivine, who finally started paying attention to reality once Sadra left. We were in the middle of a discussion of the current diplomatic crisis between the Byzantines and Ethiopia when the screaming started upstairs. "Oh my," I said. The cops turned and sprinted for the stairs, with Dr. Fielding and Mr. Olivine close behind them, leaving Senator Harding and myself behind in the living room. "I'm going to go make a phone call," he said. "Tell the guards at the gatehouse that we have intruders that they missed." He hobbled off. He has a slight limp that was an unfortunate side effect of the alien medical technology that saved his life. Compared to being dead, it's a small price to pay, however. I nodded, then sprinted off to find a good place to garb myself for action. I suspect the senator knows about my activities, but he'll never tell unless I tell him first. By the time I got upstairs, the gunfire had begun. Three of Amoeba's goons were dragging Angela up a rope ladder while two more kneeled behind a bed in one of the bedrooms, firing at the police and DBI agents. They must be expecting to be picked up from the roof. I ducked into a side room and sprinted over to the window. Looking up, I could see the goons on the ladder were most of the way up by now, about to hoist Angela into a blimp. How on God's green earth had Amoeba snuck a blimp over the estate without anyone noticing? Does no one ever look up anymore? Whatever...time to go to work. Clambering out onto the windowsill, I lept over to the rope ladder just as one of the goons in the room was trying to get onto it. I lashed out with a kick and sent him flying back into the other goon, who was busily firing a tommy gun into the hallway to keep the cops out of the room. Praying the goons up on the ladder hadn't seen me, I leaped into the room and slugged the first goon in the jaw, then followed up with a right cross. He fell down, unconscious. The second goon turned to shoot at me and I kicked his gun hand, then his face. He fell back and I stomped down on his right knee. I heard a loud crack and he collapsed, clutching his knee. As the cops peeped into the room, I waved, then jumped back onto the windowsill and grabbed the rope ladder, which was starting to rise out of reach. I could hear the whir of the blimp's engines, which were speeding up, and far above I heard, "get this thing moving before the cops start coming up the ladder!" Too late for that to work. Well, I'd be coming up the ladder if not the cops. I began climbing the ladder as the blimp left the airspace over the house and began to move off towards the nearby road. Several of the men up in the blimp took pot shots at me and the rope ladder shook in the breeze, but they were bad shots, and I wasn't about to let go. Far below, I saw Clay fire up my car and start to follow us. The blimp slowly sped up. Blimps are safe, reliable, and comfortable, but I don't think they'll ever be very fast. It was pretty easy for Clay to keep up, despite the winding road. After a couple of minutes, I was about halfway up the rope ladder. The real danger was that I was likely going to get shot before I could get to the top. Did I have anything on me I could distract them with? I thought for a moment, then got out one of my three smokebombs. I wound up and threw it with all my might, succeeding only in detonating it against the bottom of the blimp gondola. As I dug out the second one, I saw that they were now starting to cut the top of the rope ladder. I swore, but I won't repeat what I said. It wasn't ladylike to say the least. I began scuttling down the ladder so I would have a shorter fall. Clay moved the car under me and tried to match my speed, so I wouldn't fall on the road and rip myself up. Finally, just as the ladder was about to snap, I jumped down onto the roof of the car, making a nasty dent. I heard faint laughter as the blimp began to turn and headed away from the road, moving towards the Potomac River. I yelled down to Clay, "Radio Doc! Have him meet us at Dominion Dock with the motorboat." Clay nodded and did so. I clung to the roof of the car and watched the blimp fly away. Amoeba wouldn't get away that easily. Not when I'm on the job. Hmm, probably should radio the police too. Now where could Amoeba be going? And why in something as slow as a blimp? A decent car can...I blinked as the blimp suddenly shimmered and vanished. An invisibility device. Amoeba must have found some alien willing to make a deal. That explained why no one noticed the blimp before it showed up. Well, now we'd just have to pray no one noticed the tracking device on Angela... @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ Soon we rendevoused with Doc at Dominion Dock. According to the tracer, Angela was about five miles ahead of us, still over the river, or fairly close to it. The sun was beginning to set as we followed the tracer upstream. Harper's Ferry would be on our left soon. There's a sizable government armory there. I prayed that Amoeba wasn't planning to raid it. I guess my prayers were granted. We soon passed Harper's ferry. The Appalachians were beginning to loom around us. I prayed we wouldn't have to take the two bicycles on the boat to chase the blimp. This time my prayers weren't granted. Clay and I soon found ourselves biking into the mountains, in radio contact with Doc, who had the tracker. I haven't ridden a bicycle in a while, but I'm in good shape, and so is Clay. After about an hour, Doc told us the signal had stopped moving. Soon, we could see the blimp far ahead, up on a small plateau. I suppose they had to shut it off to conserve power. We rode up the dirt road we were following until we got fairly close to where the blimp was parked. There was an old house, probably dating from the mid nineteenth century despite the power line leading up to it, at the edge of a large field, now covered with high grass, but probably once a wheat field. The blimp was parked in the field, and several cars were parked around the house. We hid our bicycles at the edge of the tall grass and began to creep through it towards the house. I drew my pistol from its holster and pulled my hat down a little on my head. It flies off at the most annoying times, sometimes. Soon, we reached the blimp. Disable or not disable? Hmm. Best to keep it in case we need it. I could now hear people talking inside the house. "Have you delivered the ransom message yet, Alphonse?," one voice said. I knew that voice. It was Dr. Amoeba himself. A voice with a french accent replied. "Oui, boss. Harding is supposed to call us. We should get a lot of money for this." "My father will never bow to your demands!" It was Angela. "The Hardings don't kneel to kidnappers!" A harsh laugh and then Amoeba spoke again. "For his beloved daughter, your father will do anything. Not that I expect to make most of my profit from him. Yet, formalities must be observed, or else one can make no claim to be civilized." "I don't understand." "Your kind never does. You are nothing but a pawn in your father's games and the games of others like him." I heard faint footsteps. Probably Amoeba pacing the way he always does before he is about to rant. "Let's get closer," I whispered to Clay. He nodded and we crept to the edge of the tall grass, then slipped up to one side of the house. One of the windows was broken open. I peeked inside. Empty room. "Clay, stay out here. I'm going in to take a look." He nodded. I slipped into the house, following the sound of voices. I heard footsteps and ducked into a room. One of Amoeba's goons walked by, his pistol holstered. I stepped out behind him and slammed a hand over his mouth, then slugged him several times until he went limp. After dragging him out of sight and tying and gagging him with a handy old bedsheet, I started back down the hallway. Amoeba and eight of his goons were in the living room. Most of them were just standing around watching the doors and windows. Two of them were playing some card game. Amoeba and one older goon were standing near the old couch, on which Angela was sitting. Hmm. Where is Amoeba hiding his equipment? All I could see was a phone on the wall and a two way radio set up on a table. The phone rang. The older goon picked it up. "Ahh, yes, he's here." He turned to Amoeba. "It's for you, boss." Amoeba went to the phone. Listening carefully, I could faintly hear the other voice, speaking in French. Luckily, I know French fairly well, but I'll translate for your benefit. "Dr. Amoeba. You have the girl?" Amoeba nodded, then caught himself and said, "Yes." "Unharmed?" "Not a bruise." "Good. The money will be deposited in your account tomorrow if you still have her by then." Amoeba reddened slightly. "What do you mean, if?" "Something always seems to go wrong with everything you do, Amoeba." Amoeba got more red. "So why did you offer me this job?" The voice laughed faintly. "No one would suspect us, if you were responsible." "I'm as much from New France as you!" Amoeba said. "You're a notorious criminal. You do this all the time. We wish to see how far Harding will go, for his daughter. Just play your part." The voice hung up. I growled. Someone in New France was behind this, eh? Well, this game had gone far enough. The only problem was how to get Angela out of here without Amoeba catching us...Ahah! I snuck back to Clay and whispered my plan to him. Soon, we were ready. I waited until I saw Clay creep into the blimp, then slipped back to the hallway, just as I heard someone say, "Will someone go find out where Pierre wandered off to?" I waited. As soon as one of the goons walked into the hallway, I stepped out of my hiding place, clamped a hand over his mouth, then freely applied blows to the face until unconscious. I then slipped down the hallway. This would require timing. The next group would be larger. I waited a little while. Amoeba cursed. "Someone is in here! Alphonse, go flush them out. Pierre, make sure no one is outside." I heard footsteps. Three of them this time. This would be harder. That's what smokebombs are for. I tossed one and watched them cough in the smoke, then lept in holding my breath. What a bunch of idiots. They never do think to check the side doors. The first one went down as I kicked him in the back. The second turned and I shot his gun hand. He screamed and ran. The third raised his gun, but was too late as I kicked it away. He lashed out and hit my right shoulder, so I grabbed him and slammed him into the wall. He collapsed. I could hear more people coming. One smokebomb left. It flew into the living room. Smoke erupted and I charged in. Amoeba was over by the window, looking out, while two more goons were watching the door. "Hiya, Doc. Hope you don't mind if I cut this reunion short." I took a shot at him, but he shrank out of sight. Blast. Now he'd be hidden somewhere in this smoke. I grabbed Angela and ran. Wild gunfire erupted everywhere as I ran for the blimp. I could hear it's engines starting up. Excellent. Dodging gunfire, I sprinted across the grass and into the gondola of the blimp. Clay was there, holding a gun to the Pilot. We started to rise as more goons poured out of the house. But not very far. We had forgotten to cut the wires holding the blimp down... Gunfire raked the gondola, but luckily it was mostly bullet-proof. I blessed my lucky stars that Amoeba had taken that precaution. I leaned out the window, and fired off two quick shots, one to sever each wire. A bullet knocked my hat off my head and another nearly gave me a new hole in my neck. That took care of two wires. The gondola began to rise, but as it did so, two more goons charged forward and managed to grab onto the rope ladder. I raced back, but one of them got in before I could cut the ladder. I kicked him in the gut and he laughed. Uh oh. He swiped at me and struck my jaw. I flew backwards and pulled out my gun. I fired and discovered I needed to reload. The man laughed and pulled out his gun. "End of the line, Pearl. The master will be proud of us." "You master is a maniac! You won't get away with this." At least he recognized me. The worst thing is when I wear the mask, the hat, and the cape and they still don't recognize me. "I think he will." "I think not," Clay said, turning and shooting the two goons. They screamed and collapsed. Guess they had been so focused on me they didn't notice him. Angela quietly collapsed into one of the seats. "I guess we're safe now." I sat down beside her. "All we have to do now is head back to Jefferson." A voice spoke from behind me. "That should be difficult to do without a pilot." Something flew over my head and shattered at the pilot's feet. A billowing cloud of blue gas engulfed him and he screamed, "Help meeeeeeee!!!!" as he shrunk out of sight. I spun and found the barrel of a gun in my face. The hand weilding the gun belonged to Amoeba. "I'm afraid the game ends here. Drop your guns, Pearl." I dropped the gun in my waist holster. "And the other one." Damn, he remembered. I reached down and pulled my holdout from my left boot and dropped it on the floor. "And your henchman." Clay sighed and dropped his pistol. "Now what? Going to make us Jump?" "I and my guest will be the ones jumping. You shall be the ones blown to bits when the blimp crashes. Of course, you can always risk jumping if you really want to." He grabbed Angela and started backing towards the doorway. I blinked. "What, you're gonna jump without a parachute?" "We won't be needing parachutes. A human will die from most thirty story falls. A cat can survive. A mouse will hardly notice if he lands right. An ant won't notice at all. I can easily be as small and as light as an ant." He backed up a few more steps. "But I'll die!!!!!!!" Angela screamed. "Don't worry. You'll shrink too. It would be foolish of me to let someone as valuable as you die." Amoeba said. "You will be much safer with me than on a soon to crash blimp." I blinked. What the heck was Amoeba talking about? It was clear he hadn't done this before. Cats survive because they know how to land and are pretty flexible. Ants, on the other hand...I've never seen an ant fall. It might work, but I don't think size is the important thing. "I think your plan isn't going to work, Amoeba. Besides, if you really are that light, won't you get blown all over creation by air currents?" "Hmm. Just in case...Angela, get me all of the parachutes." She numbly did so. Amoeba then kicked all but two out of the plane. "Put one on." She did. "Now put the other one on me." Blinking, Angela said, "You're gonna have to lower the gun or I won't be able to get it over your arms." "One arm at a time." She looped it over his left arm, then she waited for him to switch his gun to his left hand. She then looped it over his right arm, and circled him buckling other straps into place, finally ending up behind him again. "Right. And now for our departure." He started to turn and Angela grabbed him from behind, wrapping an arm around his throat. I blinked. I'd never have expected violence from her. Neither did Amoeba. He yelled something incoherent, then remembered he had a gun. Too late for him by then. I leaped across the intervening space and grabbed his gun hand as he started to bring it around to threaten Angela. We started to wrestle and soon the gun flew out the door. While Clay looked for the now shrunken pilot, I continued struggling with Amoeba. Soon, both of us were hanging halfway out the door as we fought. The blimp glanced off a mountainside with a lurch and we proceeded to go most of the rest of the way out. Angela grabbed my legs, but she wasn't strong enough to hold two of us for very long. "Clay, get over here!" I yelled. He rushed over and grabbed onto my legs and pulled us both back in, then pointed Amoeba's own dropped gun at him. "The jig's up, Amoeba." "The jig is never up for one who commands the powers of SCIENCE!" He suddenly shrank to about an inch high and leaped out of the doorway, falling out of sight. Stupid shrinking power. He always does that. "I guess that will be the last we see of him," Angela said. "Why do you say that? I've seen him survive worse," I said, puzzled. Amoeba has a knack for surviving anything. "He's not high up enough for his parachute to open." Clay nodded. "Yeah, we haven't gained a lot of height yet. Not compared to these mountains." I frowned slightly. "He'll be back. One way or another, he always comes back." @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ We got Angela back safely to her family. Landing a blimp was beyond our capabilities, but with some radio help, we managed to get close enough to a mountain to jump without blowing ourselves up. Some scrapes and bruises, but it beat falling to our death or dying in flames. I still don't know for sure who hired Amoeba, but the Senator now knows someone French is out to get him. At least, they spoke French. Okay, not much use, but it's a start. I've got an ear to the ground. If they've tried once, they'll try again. But I, the Pearl, will be waiting. The End. For now.