| Ravensgate PBEM | |
| [The Foundry]
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Issue #24, “Happy Birthday, Don’t Be A Stranger” PBEM Joshua Caine looks out the big bay window of the classroom on the fourth floor of Devereaux Manor. Next to him on the desk is an empty birthday-cake tray. Two copies of Lumiere wheel out the trash from a birthday party. Below, on the main drive, Jack Nash is loading up the trailer hitched to his gleaming white sports car. The small and improbably strong Jason Garsea descends the steps, a small sofa on his back. Danielle Devereaux, directing traffic, gestures for Jason to set down the sofa and for Namor Christianson, Howard Hodgson and Jack to empty the trailer. “I could have told Jack to put the sofa in first,” Joshua remarks when he hears someone enter. It’s Vic Charlton, sauntering across the room until he leans against the window frame next to where Joshua is standing. “Jack’s not one for organization,” Vic replies, “unless he’s identifying patterns of it. This much I know about him. You, however, have been very tight-lipped about his departure.” “Yes, but not to Jack. I wish his parents would reconsider.” “Joshua,” Vic sighs, “he’s an adult, as of today. He has the means to strike out on his own. Besides, beginning in August, McMinnville should be a very safe town.” Joshua smiles as he turns to face Vic. “Linfield has a very good history department, even with the recent retirement of its longtime department chair.” “Legendary football program, too,” remarks Vic. “Forty-seven straight winning seasons, the most at any level of collegiate sports. I don’t know what their journalism department is like now, but in the mid-eighties they had Dick Nokes from The Oregonian.” “Yeah, he and Tom McCall were on that paper together. I think it was from the end of the war until McCall joined KGW in ’56, then they were both trustees at Linfield since the ‘70s. McCall was a trustee from the time he left the Governor’s Mansion until the day he died. He almost became president of the college.” “Didn’t know that,” says Vic. “Didn’t know Jack liked football, either. He says he wants to try out for their team.” Joshua looks at the kids loading the trailer, then back at Vic. “He was on the rugby squad with Howard,” he says. “He was always trying to start a flag football squad.” “So, what’s your take on this thing, as Jack would say?” Vic asks. “I’m hoping Jack will become my first true success story,” Joshua replies, glancing back out at the trailer and the kids packing. “How so? You’ve done quite a job teaching these kids, that’s no small task.” “Thank you. Every student I’ve ever had has learned the responsible use of their powers,” Joshua says. “However, none have gone out into the world and stood on their own two feet—-without someday moving back in.” “You’ve built a family, Joshua,” Vic shoots back. “Oscar and Francois were living independent lives until you and the kids took the risks you did. They returned to help protect their family.” Vic looks down at the scene outside to see that more students have joined in the effort and are rapidly filling the trailer. Joshua tilts his head to one side, purses his lips, and then nods in agreement: “Yes, I can see that. What is your take on this thing, Vic?” “It’ll be good for him to spread his wings, if his overprotective parents allow him. If he doesn’t like the collegiate life, he can always come back. Besides, he’s making my job a little bit easier.” Joshua laughs: “He hasn’t been turning out the lights on everyone again, has he?” Joshua turns toward the door, gesturing for Vic to follow him. They walk out and then down the stairs. “No, no, I mean it’s hard keeping track of seven other people, eight if you’re along, and then trying to figure out the bad guys. Jack is one of the more independent-minded people I know, to speak euphemistically.” “You’re referring to the door he opened in the Old Underground?” “When he and ‘Porter didn’t wait for backup?” Vic asks. Joshua nods, and Vic continues: “There’s that, and the investigation he started back in February—-the one that prompted Top Hat and Too Tall to visit the Manor. I was in the grotto recovering from hypothermia at the time, but Oscar and Max filled me in on what happened.” “Odd as this may sound, Vic,” Joshua says, “it may be good for him to see how the world outside these walls works—-without the distractions of having to worry about fighting crime and maintaining a double life.” “Maybe it’s just me, Joshua,” Vic says as they round the landing between the second and third floors, “but we all lead multiple lives. We wear different hats to different people at different times. Some of us have to be a bit more careful how we wear those hats, now don’t—?” Maximillian Morell, barreling up the stairs with a PDA in hand, nearly runs down Vic and Joshua. He is surprised to encounter them on the landing. “Uh, Max, could you slow it down to eighty so we can react in time?” asks Vic. “Sorry. I just received word from Vector Control regarding those advanced Kergillian implants,” Max blurts out in a staccato delivery that leaves Vic and Joshua puzzled. Max reiterates, “The DNA profile of the mosquito saliva that contained the implants, I submitted to the Vector Control Division of Fish and Wildlife. They didn’t match any local swarms, not even Howard’s, so I wanted to determine a regional origin since no local one existed.” Max hands Vic the PDA. He holds it so that Joshua also can view its display as he scrolls down the page:
“Sauvie Island? Portland?” stammers Vic, incredulous. “Yes. And the mystery certainly deepens, doesn’t it?” Max says. “Whoever this is, they have an agenda different from Morii’s, but we have no idea what that agenda is. Deepthinker is downloading a .pdf map of Sauvie Island right now, in case we need to do a field search.” “First things first,” Vic and Joshua reply in unison, then Joshua trails off to let Vic finish his thought: “Morii and the kidnapped Atlanteans still may be here in town, and we promised Captain Atlantis we’d find them. This”—-Vic waves the PDA between them—-“could get us off-track.” “Not really,” says Max, smiling. “I’ve been tweaking the ansible—-.” “Ansible?” queries Joshua. “That’s what the Captain’s telelocator transceiver calls itself. I’ve been working on a way to connect the ansible to a VoxDot junction box and . . . .” “And?” snap Vic and Joshua in unison. “And operate on the bandwidth Jason’s using for his surveillance of City Hall”—Vic and Joshua snicker, Max smiles—“with any metallic supports, pipes, and copper wiring within one meter of each bug acting as parts of one big antenna.” “Scan the entire city for the Atlanteans’ brainwaves?” Joshua asks, to which Max nods. “Wouldn’t that be problematical, since they’re most likely underground?” “Most likely?” retorts Vic. “I’d bet money. Somebody bugged out of that underground sanctum in East River. And it was just after the Checkerheads kicked in the doors at Centanni’s. And the windows. And a wall.” “A journey over the Coast Ridge would be too conspicuous, and too risky for Morii’s prisoners, if they’re still alive,” muses Joshua. “She’d need to keep them hidden and close to salt water. Max, I’m assuming you have found a way to scan underground?” “Yes. A lot of the wiring in City Hall is connected to underground cables—-electrical, telecom, broadband co-ax—-and the piping is connected to water and sewer mains, also underground. We can cover more ground this way in maybe an hour than we have all week. We just need enough VoxDots on that bandwidth to do a comprehensive scan,” says Max, pausing to deadpan: “I’m having Howard prep the cockroaches now.” Vic leans against the wall on the landing, his mouth agape. “Sheer brilliance,” he says, adding for the benefit of a puzzled Joshua: “Back in college, in the early days of cell phones, other people’s phone conversations kept overriding the audio on my cable TV. That local cable company out in Podunk, Maryland strung their co-ax along overhead wires. Our dorm windows were maybe forty feet from them. You’re working on the same principle, aren’t you?” Max nods, to which Vic comments: “Life experience, it’s as good as book learning. Joshua and I were talking about colleges, and somehow the rotten cable signal was fresh in my mind.” “How soon can you implement this?” Joshua asks. “I’ll know if the ansible and VoxDots are compatible sometime in the next eight hours, maybe nine. I just broke a dinner date with Salome,” Max replies. “In the meantime, I thought I’d take a break and wish Jack a bon voyage.” Vic takes two steps back and peers out through the window. “Good idea, he’s almost ready to take off. Maybe it’s time you two made an appearance.” Joshua pulls a card out of his shirt pocket. “I noticed neither of you has given Jack a card yet,” he says. “Did either of you even buy one?” Max stares silently and Vic manages simply, “I’m not big on goodbyes.” “Well, then, you can add your good wishes to mine,” Joshua says, waving the card about as he extracts a fountain pen from the same pocket. “Who wants to start? Max?” Joshua hands Max the pen, and Max, using the banister as a writing desk, scrawls the following: Jack,
You have exhibited a certainly unique joie-de-vivre, and this place will be the lesser without it. Do not worry about us, we’ll do fine. You are embarking upon a great adventure—no, not the Virgin Islands this summer, but the Road To Independent Life and Thought—and we wish you an auspicious and prosperous collegiate experience. Perhaps we’ll read about you on the sports page?
Best wishes on your 18th Birthday and beyond, Max Max hands the pen over to Vic: “Your turn.” Vic takes the pen and places the card against the wall. He pauses a few moments, clears his throat, then begins writing: Wildcat,
Be sure to play with a helmet, OK? That cryptic piece of advice came from Vincius Lombardicus, or some age-old Stoic. Or maybe some Wise-Ass Gladiator, I’m not sure. I dropped out before we covered that philosophical movement—the Wise-Ass Gladiators, not the Stoics. Anyway, and on a serious note, I echo Max’s sentiments. You’ll do well, and you’ll become your own man. Trust me, I’ve seen what you’re made of. Happy birthday, Jack.
Vic P.S.: At the first sign of crop circles, you know who to call, right? |
