CHAPTER FIVE
May 27, 1992
Two days passed and there was still little change in Juice's status. His amorphous body remained in the drawer in the back of the New Auckland Morgue's spare freezer and was fed by his teammates, who had taken up round the clock shifts. Pinpoint took most of the day shifts. Unlike many of the others, he was not involved in Summer School and was rather enjoying his chat sessions with a certain dark-haired medical intern, whose name, he had learned, was Sheila Donovan. He'd had several meaningful conversations with her on the occasions when she was not being monopolized by her fellow intern, Gerald, or by Dr. Parley's assigned work schedule. Beyond this, however,
things had remained relatively static.
Squeaking sounds were emitted by the wheels of the massive cart as it was pushed down the long corridor by a determined young man wearing a light blue lab coat. His three companions, equally lab-coated and pen-pocketed, walked beside the cart and occasionally consulted forms attached to clip-boards in ways that suggested routine rather than actual necessity. The cart was covered by a bleached canvas tarp that hid the contents beneath. Stalking before their little procession was Dr. Ben Parley. There was a joyousness in his step that he had not experienced since his med-school days, long before he had met his wife. He kept glancing back at the four coated men, giving them brief glimpses of what, when all the glimpses were finally combined, might have been a slight smile. Things were finally going his way. "I'm so glad you've come," he told them. "You don't know what it's been like having to put up with this madness. Crenshaw wouldn't listen to me when I told him that we weren't equipped to deal with this kind of situation. I'm glad to see he's had a change of heart." "Crenshaw?" said the coated man nearest to him. This man had more pens in his pocket than the others. He also had a thick mustache that hung down over his top lip and gave people the impression that he was descended from a Yorkshire terrier. "I'm not sure I know who you're..." "Here we are, gentlemen," Parley interrupted. "The spare freezer." He grunted, pulling open the immense doors and allowing the cart to roll through. He released the doors and strode around them to a leading position. "Right this way. It's just over here." He pointed toward the single body drawer that was extended from the far right wall and increased his pace. The four coated men plunged down the isle after him, with the vigor of those who have just realized how frightfully thin their light-blue lab-coats really are. "What the hell is this?" came a nearby voice. The lab-coated men and Parley turned at the sound and saw Pinpoint. He was sitting on a stool behind a long wooden table with a hole in its surface. On the stool next to his sat Sheila Donovan. She stared dumbfounded at them for a moment and then quickly cracked a book. Pinpoint began walking toward the men. If not for the fact that his attire was colored entirely in blacks and purples, and if not for the mask and goggles that he wore—his hair hanging from a hole in the back—he would have looked very much like your typical long-haired street punk. Pinpoint crossed his arms and looked at them sternly. "Miss Donovan," said Parley to the girl, who was feigning study as best she could. "Surely there are more appropriate places for you to be catching up on your... eh, studies than here?" The girl's face turned bright red and she gathered her books and left as quickly as she could, apologizing and muttering along the way. "Excuse me," said the masked man, a definite ire rising in his voice. "I believe I asked a question." "Er, Pinpoint, is it?" Parley did not bother to look at him for more than an instant before turning back toward the body drawer. "These men are scientists. They know what they're doing." Pinpoint sprinted up behind them and somersaulted over their heads, landing swiftly in front of them. "They might, but I don't," he said. "I repeat: What...the hell...is this?" "No one's told him?" said the mustached scientist to Parley. "No one told me what?" Parley rolled his eyes. "Why I bother.... Pinpoint, these men have come to take it away. Now be a good lad and move aside." "Do what?" "They're scientists. They've come to take your friend away for study." "The hell, they are!" Parley huffed loudly and pointed a single finger at the masked man. "Stand aside!" When Pinpoint did not move, Parley tried to move around him, but found his progress impeded by an arm to the chest. "What is the meaning of this?" "No one is taking anything or even getting near that drawer until I find out what's going on here!" "Go on ahead, gentlemen," said Parley. "I'll handle this." The men remained still. They looked at each other nervously. Then, the one with the mustache took a cautious step forward. He halted it quickly as Pinpoint stepped in front of him and held up a violet-clad hand. Mustache looked at the hand in annoyance, similar to that of a small child who has just been commanded to shush by someone other than his own mother. Pinpoint noticed this and arced tiny bolts of yellow energy between his fingers until the man's expression changed to an appropriate level of apprehension. Pinpoint shook a scolding finger at him. "Bad scientist! No research grant!" Parley was having none of it. "Young man, if you don't get out of the way, I will call the police." "Fine by me." "Oh, come on now! You're just being difficult," said Parley. "Difficult? You
think I'm being difficult?" he laughed. "You have not begun to see
difficult!"
"You should have let me drive," said the older, masked gentleman wearing the wide-brimmed gray hat. He was seated in the passenger side of a white Lumina APV which was idling quietly amidst a gaggle of other vehicles, waiting for a centrally located traffic signal to favor them with a green. He looked over at the driver, an equally gray-haired fellow wearing an expensive suit with an identification badge pinned to his collar. "Duncan, you were never any good at getting from place to place," continued the man in the hat. He also wore a black domino mask and carried two, three-foot long swords attached to his belt. "Now, if you'd taken the short-cut I'd suggested..." "It's my van and I'm driving it," said Duncan. "If you wanted to drive, you should have brought your big ol' white motorcycle with you. What was that you named it? Fencer?" "Cutlass," corrected the man in the hat. "Ah, yes, Cutlass. I'd forgotten. Still in running order, or is it nearly up on blocks like its owner?" "Touché'!" he grinned. "It's been too long since our verbal blades have met." "Some people we both know would say it's not been long enough." The man in the hat laughed heartily. "Too true, too true! But what she doesn't know won't hurt her." "And how is dear Madlyn these days?" "In Japan, visiting family." The light changed to green and traffic was able to move ahead nearly twenty feet before being halted by a red. "Let's try the radio again," the masked man said. "We can't afford them beating us there." "They didn't answer before, so they're probably already there. McKendrick's no slouch. If I know him, he'll be in and out of there before we even arrive." "I doubt it." "What do you mean?" "I mean he won't make it out of there. At least not in once piece." "And why not?" "Pinpoint." "And?" "And he doesn't know we're coming." "I thought you were supposed to tell your people?" "I did tell my people. Pinpoint severed himself from the mind-link before any of my people could tell him. That's why I'd hoped to get there before your people, which would have happened had you let me drive." "So this is bad then?" "That depends. How much did you say that equipment was worth?" Dr. Duncan Reed immediately pressed the gas pedal and drove onto the sidewalk. "What are you doing?!" "Getting us there! What does it look like?" "It looks like you want us arrested or dead." "Take your pick." The van rounded the corner, narrowly missing a postman, before leaving the curb and returning to the street. An alley and two side-streets later, they were back in business. "Slow down, Duncan!" said the man in the hat. "I've just taken care of it." Duncan shot him a look. "What do you mean?" "I've sent someone in." "And they're going to get there before we are?" "Quite a bit sooner, I expect." "Well I don't see... Wait a minute. How did you send them in?" The man in the hat tapped his forehead. "They're not the only ones on the mind-link, you know." Duncan's expression bordered on disbelief. He shook it off and smiled. "It's a new era, Thadeus. A new era." "Well, the days of wrist walkie-talkies are certainly over, anyway." "It's nice to see the Swashbuckler has managed to find his way into this new era." Dr. Glass, alias the
Swashbuckler, tapped his sword-pommel against his forehead in a small salute.
"Always have."
Bluestreak, who some nanoseconds previously had arrived at the New Auckland Morgue, moved straight through the front doors of the building with all the ease of one who spends most of his time running on a slightly different plane of reality from the rest of us—which he did, and quite well. He passed through the lobby doors. They took no notice of his passing, as didn't the receptionist, who had been in mid-blink. The lengthy hallway beyond the lobby offered, not surprisingly, little challenge to Bluestreak's running abilities. So fast was he that he ran directly past the closed doors of the spare freezer, down the hall and soon found himself standing comfortably on the exterior side of the building's back wall. "Shit!" he said upon looking around. He was about to curse further when his attention was diverted to the sound of an explosion from within the building itself. "Shit!" he repeated and disappeared back through the wall. This time Bluestreak
had no trouble locating the doors to the spare freezer since they were
conveniently laying in a mangled smoking heap against the opposite wall.
If someone, who was able to observe things moving at the kind of speeds
Bluestreak was used to moving at, happened to be standing nearby they would
have seen Bluestreak shake his head in disgust and mumble the name Pinpoint
under his breath. There were, however, no such individuals around.
The cart's bleached canvas tarp lay, partially smoldering, a few feet away from it. The four scientists and Dr. Parley were behind the cart, but were no longer attempting to peek over its top, or rather its side edge, as they had been a few moments earlier. Three of them were now more than content to shiver with cold and fear from their tenuous position behind the toppled cart, busying themselves by staring at the scarred patches of floor nearby and listening to Parley scream. The owner of the mustache, however, was feverishly trying to put it out. "Pinpoint, you stop
this right now!" screamed Parley from behind the toppled equipment cart.
"But these men are from SILO Labs!" "Whoever told you I cared has greatly deceived you." "This is city property you're destroying!" "I paid my taxes this year. What's the problem?" A blur ran by the door. It ran by again. It ran by a third time and then stopped to peak around the corner. "Pinpoint?" the blur called. Pinpoint looked up from his wads of newspaper. "Streak? How's it going?" "What are you doing?" "Oh, not too much. Sitting around, reading the paper, keeping these bastards from taking Juice... You know, the usual." "Pinpoint, they're from SILO." "See!" called a voice from behind the cart. "I know. They won't shut up about it. Doesn't matter, though. They're not getting anywhere near Ju..." An expression of confusion crossed Pinpoint's goggled face. "Uh, Bluestreak... How did you know where they were from?" "Because Mentor sent them here, you moron!" There was a moment of silence. "He did?" "Yes!" "Oh." The corona of energy dissipated. "Oops. I, uh... I didn't know that." "You would have known it if you hadn't dropped the mind-link five minutes before we could tell you about it!" said Bluestreak, moving toward him. "Like I need you guys in my head all day." "Uh, excuse me!" called
Dr. Parley from behind the cart. "I have a question... Just who the
hell is going to pay for those doors?"
One of the many misconceptions about SILO Labs is that its name is actually an acronym. Though this view is extremely common and backed up by repeated references in the media it is not, in fact, correct. So prevalent is this misconception that SILO Labs public relations firm has an entire division set aside to take charge of just this problem. On a daily basis, reporters from across the country, be they television, newspaper, radio or otherwise, invariably phone the PR agency and explain at length to them that they simply cannot remember whether the final letter in SILO stands for Operations or for Organization. The reporters who call are then informed by a highly-trained public relations official, that the O, in fact, does not stand for anything and that this fact should be reflected in the final published story. One would naturally think that after so many years of this, reporters would finally get the message and the problem would thus be resolved. Unfortunately for SILO, but very fortunately for their retained public relations firm, this not the case. The reason behind SILO
Labs choice of name stems from the fact that it, like each of its five
other branches across the nation, is situated snugly in the depths of a
series of renovated missile silos, purchased from the United States Government
beginning in 1978. Their many subterranean levels are a mystery to
the vast majority of the public. To the few who are allowed to enter
them, they are a source of amazement.
The Four O'clock sky was overcast above SILO Labs as three members of Avatar approached from the air. Quartz was the only one of them actually flying by his own power, but he did carry Mobius aloft via a special harness. Mobius opened his gray glider-cape wide before pressing a release at his end of the harness, allowing him to float down to the parking lot with a slow descent. Hopscotch, the third member, was not flying, but falling in a downward arc. He landed firmly on his feet with little more than a grunt, Quartz alighted beside him with a slight chime and moments later they were joined by Mobius. Quartz took a quick scan of the area. "This is where Mentor asked us to meet him?" "Yes," said Hopscotch in a not entirely satisfied tone. He wasn't happy with the situation in the slightest. It was bad enough that Avatar had been obliged to pay for the damage Pinpoint had done to the doors of the morgue's freezer, upsetting Detective Crenshaw to no end. Now they were having to deal with SILO Labs, who had agreed to help find a cure for Juice. The truly odd thing was that their Mentor, Dr. Thadeus Glass, a.k.a. The Swashbuckler, apparently had some sort of in with SILO. It had been his idea in the first place. The situation as a whole was disturbing. On one hand, SILO Labs, an organization renowned for their positive contributions to technology and science, was going to attempt to find a cure for Juice's condition. On the other hand, SILO Labs, an organization renowned for their mysterious and highly speculative nature, was going to have a sample of 5thMatter in their clutches. It wouldn't have been such a difficult concept to swallow except for the armies of obedient, efficient, government-controlled 5thMatter beings that kept goosestepping through Hopscotch's imagination. It was this vision that was, quite frankly, giving him the willies. As they approached the massive surface building, the distant sound of an engine could be heard. At first it was difficult to distinguish just what sort of engine could be making the sound. But they received their answer before long, for Quartz sighted an enormous white motorcycle driving on the access road toward them. As it approached, the roar of the engines got a good deal louder. As near as Hopscotch was able to determine, the bike was a severely customized Harley Davidson. There were no pipes or chrome to be seen, as per Harley tradition. Instead there was a sleek, white outer-shell that ran the length of the vehicle. Protruding on either side of the cycle's seat, resting comfortably in their riding sheaths, were the ornate handle's of two fencing swords. The cycle's rider wore a gray helmet with a tinted face-plate. A band of black paint encircled it and a white plume feather was painted on one side. As the cycle grew closer they could see that the man was wearing a lengthy, gray, leather vest held together with dark leather cords across his chest and with a black leather belt around his midriff. A white tunic was worn underneath the vest and its billowing sleeves, tucked into dark leather cuffs at the wrist, fluttered madly in the wind. Black trousers were likewise tucked into deep gray boots. The cycle squealed to a halt in front of the building and its rider dismounted and pulled the helmet from his head. Beneath it was a time-worn face, a black mask covering the eyes and a roof of receding silver hair. From a compartment in the cycle's side, the man pulled a wide-brimmed hat, complete with feather, and doffed it upon his head. The two swords were yanked from their riding sheaths and flipped into the air, soaring up and coming down only to be caught and sheathed with lightning quick skill. So impressive was this dramatic little show, that the three members of Avatar failed to notice the dark suited man who had stepped from the building's entrance and who was now applauding loudly from his place on the steps. Quartz watched the cyclist. He turned to Hopscotch, a quizzical expression worn beneath his crystal face-plate. "That is the Swashbuckler, is it not?" "He is." Quartz was silent for a moment as the three of them continued toward the building. He watched the man in the wide-brimmed had with great interest. Suddenly he stopped. The others too paused. Quartz looked at the Swashbuckler. He looked at his companions. He looked back. "Wait a moment, that's..." "Yes." "Your...?" "Yes." "That teaches...?" "Yes." "And he's the....?" "Yes." "Oh." Quartz was again thoughtful for a moment. "He looks a lot older than he does in the comics." As the three of them arrived at the steps they noticed the man in the suit descending toward the Swashbuckler. He was still applauding. "Bravo! Bravo!" "I believe this settles any debate on the condition of my equipment, eh, Duncan?" said the Swashbuckler. "Old friend, you never cease to amaze me! Never indeed." The two of them shook hands warmly. "You're a fine and shining example of a true show off." Hopscotch cleared his throat. The Swashbuckler turned and noticed them. "Ah, you've arrived! Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet one of the best scientists the east coast has to offer, Dr. Duncan Reed. Dr. Reed is the regional director for SILO. Duncan," he said holding a hand out toward the three men, "this is Avatar." "The Swashbuckler's told me so much about you. You're Mobius, correct?" he asked, reaching out to shake Quartz's hand. "Only joking! Quartz, right?" Quartz nodded amiably and shook Dr. Reed's offered hand. Reed smiled. "What I wouldn't give to get a look at your suit some day." "Well, I..." Quartz began. "Oh, I'm sure it's far beyond anything we have here on Earth. I doubt I'd have the slightest clue where to begin. But still, it could be interesting fun." Quartz beamed with respect. "And you must be the real Mobius," said Reed, offering his hand to the cloaked man in front of him. "Now you're a person after my own heart. We may be up to our armpits in impressive technology here at SILO, but when it all comes down to it we can't do anything that can touch the power of the human mind." He gave Mobius a knowing grin and shook his hand firmly. He turned to the third man. "And you're..." "Hopscotch. The name's Hopscotch." "Yes. You're the teleporter." Dr. Reed watched Hopscotch briefly, as though expecting him to teleport around the parking lot as a demonstration. Hopscotch did not. "You mystic types do seem to have the stranglehold on the whole disappearing act thing. Such a despicably complicated process for us. Between you and me, we haven't gotten it even 70 percent correct yet. But that's okay. We just use our grant sponsors as the guinea pigs and everything works out fine." Hopscotch suppressed a chuckle. "At any rate, it's nice to meet the three of you. I'm quite looking forward to meeting the rest of the team soon. But I'm sure you're all more interested in seeing the facilities we'll be using to examine, and hopefully treat, Juice than you are in talking to me." "Well, that's a given," said the Swashbuckler. "Lead the way... Doctor." The automatic doors
flew open with a whoosh and they all stepped into SILO Labs.
The lobby was a truly amazing sight. A cavernous room of stainless steel and glass. The face of the building was made of a thick glass-like substance that allowed sunlight through, bathing the room warmly, yet reflecting cooly from the furnishings. The design was completely steamlined, with no harsh angles or piercing lights. Even the reflections of the sun on the tiled floor or the clear glass-like couches were easy to look at directly. There was something else about the place that was harder to pick up on. A smell, perhaps, though not one distinct enough to be identified. It was a very pleasant odor, though. It combined with the rooms design to create an atmosphere of complete and total comfort. The Swashbuckler whistled. "It's just as impressive the second time." Dr. Reed laughed. "I've been here for ten years and I still occasionally get chills about it." They proceeded through the lobby. Along one wall were hung photographs of some of the more public items created by SILO Labs. Hopscotch took notice of a framed picture featuring the three members of New Auckland's new Special Forces Unit. Their acronymic names were F.I.S.T., W.A.S.P. and Mace. F.I.S.T. wore a bucket-like helmet that covered his head completely. Mace's garb was similar to police-issue riot gear. He had what looked like a line-gun mounted on his arm and he carried a large baton on his belt. W.A.S.P. looked more like an enormous robot than a human being. They were known to the public at large as the SuperCops. They had only been revealed two months previously but since then the city government had taken every opportunity to parade them for the public. For all the good press, though, they had yet to make an arrest. "You designed the SuperCops here?" asked Hopscotch. "What? Oh, no. Not entirely, at least. Our branch is more modular than most. Strictly R&D at the moment, so we weren't as involved with them as some of our other divisions. The basic F.I.S.T. system was a sort of side-project for some of our force-field specialists. We did the design work, but the suit itself was actually built at our Albuquerque facility. They also designed and built Mace's equipment. The W.A.S.P. unit was planned and built in Seattle, where we do most of our robotic and cybernetic work. We did the wrap-up on it here and matched it with a suitable pilot. Beyond upkeep, though, our involvement with it is very limited." "Why New Auckland?" "I'm sorry?" "If they weren't designed in New Auckland, why use them here?" "Ah, that is a very good question and one for which I have an answer. It seems that the New Auckland/Wellington area has become a hub for super-powered activity; more so than New York or Los Angeles, some studies have shown. No one's really sure why this is. It's commonly known that the cities have been the headquarters for such criminal organizations as Chess, and before them Mirage, for more than half of this century. But it wasn't until the Mercy Gang incidents of last year that the studies have swung so fully in the cities' favor. Management decided that this would be the ideal location to test our equipment and New Auckland agreed with us wholeheartedly. The way they see it, it only makes the city look good to have officially sanctioned protectors on the force." The Swashbuckler chuckled. "And the way you see it, if they're a success here you can market them to other cities in need of protectors." Dr. Reed raised an eyebrow at him. "That's management's view, anyway. I just fix them when they come back broken, which is what they've been doing. We're still working out all the bugs, but before long they'll be ready to go into full-time operation." He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, we're not ready to give you any serious competition yet." He pointed toward the elevator. "Right this way." They passed a desk made of blue glass, behind which sat a receptionist who smiled at them, and made their way toward the open doors of a spacious elevator. Mobius warmed up the mind-link. `THIS IS....IMPRESSIVE!' `YOU'RE NOT KIDDING! I MEAN, I WAS EXPECTING SOMETHING NICE BUT THIS IS...IMPRESSIVE. PRODIGY'S GOING TO KICK HIS SELVES WHEN HE FINDS OUT WHAT HE MISSED,' Hopscotch thought to the others. `I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING ABOUT GIZMO. HE WOULD KILL TO GET A LOOK AT THIS!' Mobius thought. `ARE YOU KIDDING? GIZMO PROBABLY WORKS FOR THEM BY NOW.' `I HADN'T THOUGHT OF THAT, BUT YOU'RE PROBABLY RIGHT.' `WELL I DON'T FIND
IT ALL THAT IMPRESSIVE,' Quartz said. `NICE DESK, THOUGH.'
After reaching the seventh subterranean level, the elevator doors opened and the team gazed into a vast room, the purpose of which was not entirely clear. They had been expecting technology, the likes of which they'd never before seen. But the sight that greeted them was rather a complete absence of it. Besides the rows of power outlets and cable boxes the room was completely blank. "What is this room used for?" asked Mobius. Dr. Reed stepped from the elevator. "Nothing, at the moment. Like I said, we're a very modular facility." He saw their expressions of disappointment. "Don't worry, we'll have something for you to look at here before too long. Now, in here," he said, indicating the arched metal doorway in the right hand corner of the room, "is where we've set up shop." The side room proved to be only about half the size of the previous room, though its ceiling was still twenty feet high. It also contained considerably more equipment, the most obvious of which was a long metal counter with a human shaped imprint set into its surface. Resting in the imprint was Juice's formless mass. They recognized the rolling cart from the morgue. It was now fully upright, and its charred tarp had been folded and stored in a slot near the cart's front. Its devices chirped away in technological contentment, scanning, recording and generally lighting up impressively. Regardless of its apparent working condition, the cart looked as though it had been through a war. But one of the most interesting aspects of the room, at least as far as Avatar would soon be concerned, was currently sitting with her back to them, at a desk near the long metal table. "Gentlemen," said Dr. Reed, "I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Sylvia Nelson." He held out a hand to indicate the dark-haired woman by the table. "We brought her in from Ames to look into restoring Juice to his former self." Dr. Nelson took a few seconds to finish what she was writing and then turned to face them. `THAT'S A SCIENTIST?' thought Hopscotch. `NICE BRAINS!' matched Mobius. Quartz glared at the two of them for a brief moment, before turning back to look at Dr. Nelson. "Dr. Nelson, these men are members of Avatar," said Reed. He introduced her to each of them. Her expression of detached interest never faltered. They were given the distinct feeling that she was not entirely impressed by them. "It's very nice to meet you," she said turning immediately back to her work. `BRRRR! SOMEBODY GET ME A JACKET!' Hopscotch thought to the others. Dr. Reed cleared his throat. "Dr. Nelson's already began her study of the substance. From what I understand, it's truly remarkable. At this point, it needs near constant absorption of matter just to remain stable. If the absorption is cut back it begins to shrink." "Doctor, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but we already know this," said Mobius. "We've known Juice for two years now, and how 5thMatter works is nothing new." "I'm sure that's true. But it is new to us. We've never even seen a substance like this and it's going to take some time and examination before we can begin formulating possible treatments." The Swashbuckler stepped forward. "That's why they're going to need Avatar's help on this. Duncan and I have talked this over and we think it would be a good idea if they could interview each of you." "You want to interview us?" "Yes. We need to know as much about 5thMatter as possible and since other than Juice himself, you know the most about it. We have nothing to go on other than our observations and that route could take a dangerously long time. We don't know if Juice's current stability is going to last. We need information as soon as possible." Hopscotch looked back at Mobius and Quartz and stared at them for several seconds in silence. "Swashbuckler, could we have a word with you in private?" "You can talk in the main lab, if you like." "I expect we'll just go over in the corner here, Duncan," said the Swashbuckler. "Thanks anyway." "Oh. Oh, yes.
I forgot."
In the corner, Mobius looked into his professor's eyes and made the mental contact, rejoining him to the mind-link. Questions were immediate. `MENTOR, I'M NOT SURE ABOUT THIS,' said Hopscotch. `AFTER ALL, WE DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THEM. NO ONE KNOWS ANYTHING ABOUT SILO LABS. AND I'VE BEEN TRYING!' `LADS, I CAN UNDERSTAND YOUR FEELINGS HERE, BUT I PROMISE YOU, THERE'S NO NEED TO WORRY. I'VE KNOWN DUNCAN REED FOR OVER FORTY YEARS. HE'S A GOOD MAN. AND IF ANYONE CAN HELP JUICE, DUNCAN CAN.' `WHAT ABOUT HER?' thought Quartz with a suspecting tone. `YEAH, WHAT ABOUT TUNDRA-LASS OVER THERE?' `WELL, I ADMIT I DON'T KNOW HER FROM ADAM. BUT IF DUNCAN ASSIGNED HER SHE'S THE ABSOLUTE BEST.' `AND THE INTERVIEWS?' `ARE VITALLY NECESSARY. I WOULDN'T ASK YOU IF THEY WEREN'T. DON'T WORRY, YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL THEM ANYTHING DETRIMENTAL. THEY JUST WANT INFORMATION ON 5THMATTER. WE MUST DO WHAT'S BEST FOR JUICE. AND RIGHT NOW I THINK OUR BEST BET IS HERE.' Mental frowns were felt. `I HATE TO SAY IT,
GUYS,' thought Hopscotch to them, `BUT HE HAS A POINT. LET'S
GIVE IT A GO.'
As they re-joined Doctors
Reed and Nelson, and were shuffled off to begin the preliminary interviews,
Hopscotch made a point in his mind to do some preliminary investigating
of his own.
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