“Undisclosed Location”

By RD Rivero

March 2, 2002

 

**final version**

 

Act One

 

It was late winter and the cold, bitter night had come early, perhaps, too early.  Yet, despite the five-foot slush of snow that covered the ATB’s aboveground portions, the clime within was warm and tranquil.  The various rooms and passages were drab and dusty for the recent lack of womanly attention had left the base in a state of unkept unseemliness.  Indeed, only two persons remained at the secret, well-known bunker, since most of the regulars had either passed or were more interested in the Fianna Must Die club to care about the fine, lost art of Tygra-Torture.

“Hmmm,” Grune hummed as he sat back in bed, pillows under his back.  The saber lion leaned toward the night stand, where a single lamp lit the room.  “‘Angry Amazon Women Get Tube-Tied,’” he read the title aloud and flipped the page.  “Honey, dear,” he asked, angel-food cake on his breath, “why did you never finish this one?”

“Which one?” RD emerged from the dark oblivion of the hall.  He shut the door and casually looked across the small bedroom.  “Oh, that one,” he said, peering at the manuscript the lion held in his paws.  “I’ve done that story to death, sweetie,” the cruel dictator explained, loosening his shirt.  “An abduction, scenes in a prison, evil doctors who conduct bizarre experiments.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” he turned to the last page.  “‘Oh my god,’ the angered Willa wailed, her voice trembling through the operating room, ‘I’ve been tube-tied!’  Great stuff!”  He put the papers down on the small tabletop and reset the pillows.

“What a long, dreadful day I’ve had!” the human sighed.  “Thank the demons of hell for the night.”  He eased himself into the bed and covered up with the blanket.

Grune turned off the lamp and snuggled against his mate.  “Purrr,” he whispered softly into his ear.

RD rubbed his chin, “You like that, huh?” he teased.  “It can either be a long night, or a short night, you know.”

The saber tooth laughed- the phone rang in accompaniment.

“I’ll get it,” the hapless dictator said, reaching over to the night stand.  “Hello?” he paused, taking the receiver up to his head.  “Yes, that’s me.  Yes, I did contribute to the RNC last year.  What?”  A lengthy pause followed.  “I’ll be right there!”

At once the evil one slammed the phone and got out of bed.

“What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“I,” RD rushed into the bathroom for a quick change.  “It’s, I mean,” he walked to the bedside and gave Grune a deep, wet kiss.  “My country needs me!”  And with that he whisked out the door-

“My evildoer!” Grune cooed and fluttered his eyelashes.

 

Early the next morning, Chanur shoveled snow around the outer perimeter of the Ferocious Female’s fort.  He had been tasked to clear an ample walkway from the main entrance to the roadside and then, because no one else wanted to do it, he had no choice but to clear most of the byway, too.  All in all, the job took him about five hours to complete and, since it was still snowing- although no more than a light flurry- he was by no means done for the day.

“I’m pooped,” the hani sighed and collapsed on a chair.  The girls, who warmed themselves around the fireplace, giggled at the spent and sorry sight.  “I suppose you think this is funny?”

“Awww, tired gatico?” Spark walked around Chanur, groping and massaging his shoulders with her still-cold hands.  “That feel better?”

“Such cruel women!” he gasped- her tight hold sent shivers up his spine.  “I feel so-”

“So?” Peachyra raised an eyebrow.

“So, appreciated,” he smiled and endured the attention.  He supposed it could have been worse- the avatar’s plants could have given him a more ‘relaxing’ shakedown instead.

“OK!” a British accent bluntly cut into the scene- the crash of the door breaking down only added to the shock the interrupting voice had garnered from the unprepared room.  “We are now in the den,” it was Kam, he spoke to Zhyan, his trusty cameraman.  “You can smell it, can’t you?  We’re close, so close you can taste it!”

The pair quickly maneuvered through the room with Kam zigzagging in front and Zhyan struggling at the rear.

“The natives look stunned,” he commented.  Peachyra, TygrisHawk, Spark and Chanur glared into the camera, their faces and forms momentarily frozen in curiosity.  “They look, a little too innocent.”

“Oh, brother,” TygrisHawk rolled her eyes.

“I don’t suppose they like being filmed- look!”  Kam pointed to a wedge of cake that lay helpless across its side.  “Look at that!”  He knelt before it- the camera was lowered to the same level to better capture the host’s narration.  “The worst example of cake I’ve ever seen!  Pound cake!  No icing, no layers-”

“No more,” Chanur reached across the coffee table and clutched the plate- the fork was already in his other, free hand.  “It’s lunch!”

“NO!” the wacky host wailed- the camera zoomed in on the scene of the crime, the panther’s near inhalation of the fresh-baked delight.  He turned the camera to face him once the horror was over.  “And with that we bid farewell- it was an unfinished cake, an unloved cake, a cake in the wait-”

“Burppp!” Chanur excused himself.

“Ahem, a cake taken before its time,” he wiped away a tear.  “This has been another eventful episode of, Kam the Cake-Hunter!”

“And that’s a wrap!”  The archangel put the camera down.

“We really can’t be mad at the boys,” the avatar said, “in this dreadful, snowy weather we’ve really got nothing else-”

Ding, dong!

“What, what?  By Chris, is this the Junk Food Channel?” the golden panther said- the others turned to him, confused.  “What?”

“It’s my package!” Peachyra ran to the front entrance at once in utter excitement- the others rushed onward behind her.  She had been waiting for two weeks to get the shipment she had ordered on-line just before Christmas.  “It’s finally here!”  She opened the door and looked down- indeed, on the steps were five large boxes, decorated like Holstein cows.

“Oh my god!” Kam raised his arms in wild gestures of shock and horror.  “RD boxed your cows!”

“No such thing, Kam,” the feme-fetal said as she signed the packaging slip.  “It’s the Gateway computers I bought for the holidays!  Now the whole fort will be wired and on-line!”

“Thank you ma’am,” the UPS man said, adjusting his dark sunglasses- he gave her a pink copy of the slip and returned to his truck.

“Hey,” Chanur noticed something weird, something unusual about the delivery man.  “You bet it’s weird!”

“What is it, Channy?” Spark returned her hands- re-cooled by the winter air- onto his shoulders.  He jumped in response to her delight.

“It was probably nothing- but, he had a weird cord running out of his ear.”

“Ahhh, that’s nothing.  Come on,” Peachyra slid a box into the building, “help me get this set up.”

 

The kitchen in the much fabled and equally maligned Cat’s Lair was unusually busy with activity that late afternoon.  Tygra was there, of course, pacing nervously and eating for comfort- the addictable tiger had gained about twenty pounds ever since that fateful day in December when ‘Lord of the Rings’ premiered.  Snarf, meanwhile, ran around like a chicken with its head cutoff, busy working and preparing, planning and agonizing.

Tygra sat before a fresh, new chocolate cake, tongue dripping, lips smacking.  With the knife he cut a thin slice and eased it onto a plate that he set aside.  The rest of the cake he shoved before him and slowly, pensively, he began to eat the moist, rich, gooey delicacy.

“She’s still there,” Tygra looked down on Snarf, his face long and obscured by streaks of chocolate icing.  “It’s been two weeks already,” he mumbled his words, bits of unchewed cake spraying across the table.

“I know, it’s unusual,” the smallish creature said as it slithered across the kitchen floor.  “Does she think if she stays long enough they’ll play part two for her?”

“‘The Two Towers’ doesn’t come out until next year!” Silky Stripes stomped his foot- the plates in the cupboards and the pans that hung on the walls rattled in response.  Even the cake quivered in fear.

“You don’t have to tell me-”

WileyKat entered through the swinging doors, tugging a wheeled cart.  He set it close to the sink and looked at the steaming tiger.  “Oh, oh, you mean Thundera Tiger’s still at the move theater?”

“Shhh!” Snarf silenced the young cat.  “We’re not supposed to talk about it.”

Just at that moment Liono buzzed in on the intercom- since he was not allowed in the kitchen after the incident with the fish, the PA system was the only way he could communicate with Snarf most of the time:  “Snarf, did you make that list yet?”

The annoying creature fumbled around the rack of cookbooks.  “Almost, I just need to know how many people are supposed to show up.”

“Um,” the sounds of papers ruffling could be heard over the speaker, “let’s say about a hundred.”  Snarf’s eyes widened.  “Yup, a hundred.”

“I didn’t know we had that many friends,” Tygra added.  Enemies, that he could believe.

“They’re guests and dignitaries and people like that,” Liono said.  “We don’t have much time left.”

“Grrr!” he turned off the communicator.  “WileyKat, go down to the theater and get Liono’s Thunderian Express Card back from TT.  We’re gonna need it!”

“No,” Tygra pled, “let me go, I’ll do it.”

“Um, erm, better yet, the two of you go but WileyKat brings me the card.”  He watched the pair leave and wondered aloud if he shouldn’t just have gone for it himself.  The Grand Ball was in less than three days and their freezer was only half-full of meat, the pantry barely stocked with the necessary items and Panthro had not finished the indoor grills.  Worse, still, thanks to the snow that had fallen over the past week, the city markets were either shutdown or inaccessible.  “A snarf’s life is never easy!”

 

 

Act Two

 

The UPS truck rumbled from the Ferocious Female’s fort, through the curvy byway, to an abandoned gas station a few hundred yards from the main road.  The massive vehicle turned to the rear of the dilapidated establishment, crashed into a thicket of trees and bushes that had been heavily dusted with bright, white snow and stopped before a green field-tent that flapped in the stiff breeze.  The driver slid the door open- bits of broken glass fell to the ground- and stepped out from behind the front seat, clad in the brown shirt and shorts uniform of a company delivery man.

At once a group of three men and one woman, dressed in unfrilled, black clothes, surrounded the UPS man- their hands were in their inner-jacket pocket, their itchy fingers at the trigger ready for action.  He grabbed his shirt with one hand and his knee- or what appeared to be his knee- with the other and in one, swift jerk tore away the latex body-suit that covered him.  Revealed beneath the tattered disguise was his more befitting attire- a black suit, white shirt and thin, black tie.  He was so swift, so practiced an expert that his dark sunglasses had not wandered a millimeter and even his earpiece needed no adjustment.

“Piece of cake,” he said under his breath- his female comrade winked, the males grunted and greeted him with a ‘relaxed,’ at-ease posture.

“Good work, agent,” Mandora said in typical monotonic fashion, mechanically saluting as she and RD emerged from the tent.  “Now get him back in there,” she pointed  the others to the unconscious body of the real delivery man- he was chained to a tree stump in the middle of the camp.  At her command the rest of the agents re-clothed the darted and drugged UPS man and returned him to the driver’s seat, slumped over the wheel.

“What did you find?” the madman asked, eager to know the information the scout had gathered.

“I observed the objective at the door- he as well as the other FF regulars answered when I rang the doorbell.  He seemed to be tired and physically distraught probably because of all of the shoveling we watched him do earlier today.”

“Excellent, excellent!” RD exclaimed and rung his hands maniacally.  “And since it’s still snowing, there’s a good chance he’ll be sent out again to re-shovel the pavement.”

“Hmmm,” Mandora rubbed her chin, for a moment she actually had an original idea in her head.  That moment passed rather quickly and, so, acting fast she said this instead:  “Are you sure someone else in the FF wouldn’t take a turn to clear the street?”

“No, of course not, he’s their handyman, he does their, manual, labor,” the evil, mad, disturbed, miscreant, egotistical doctor replied, laughing, cackling.

“Hurry!  Prepare another dart,” the agents in black scurried off to retrieve the gun and sedatives.  “Dr. Rivero, get the decoy ready!”

“At once!”

 

Deep in the heart of the fort, Kam and Zhyan were busy setting up the computer workstation.  The pair worked diligently for about an hour- they followed the instructions quite content that they did everything right.  But it was taking too long and things had become too quiet, or so Peachyra thought.  It was unusual for those two to stay so well behaved for so long and it bothered her to such an extent that she questioned the wisdom of letting those two put together her precious, new Gateway PC.

Cautiously, nervously, she tiptoed up the steps in the near-total darkness of the passage, careful that the wooden boards beneath her feet not creak and give away her presence.  She wanted to catch them unknowingly, unwittingly in the act of whatever it was that they were doing.  She came upon the looked door of the computer room and as she walked closer and closer to its dull, gray frame she swore that it swayed and throbbed as if alive, as if to the rhythm of creepy, satanic chants.  The avatar shrugged it off and-

“OH MY GOD!!” she yelled as she opened the door, nearly fainting as she looked in.

She saw before her, scattered on the floor, what the Brits had done to her computer.  The monitor was attached to the printer- oddly, the paper device was shooting out wrinkled sheets left and right and the screen had the words ‘Thank you!  Insert again!’ flashing in yellow letters.  The keyboard was plugged into a power socket.  Thankfully, at least, the mouse was connected to the desktop, regrettably, it had been de-balled.  Cords hung from the ceiling lights and CD-ROMS flew through the air like Frisbees.

“WHAT ARE YOU TWO TRYING TO DO??!!”

“Oh, oh,” the two exclaimed in prim and proper Queen’s English.  Quickly realizing that their presence was no longer needed, the pair hightailed it out of the room, fleeing in terror!

It took Peachyra about eight minutes to undo all the damage Kam and Zhyan had done and another three minutes to correctly and completely assemble the system.  The entire array of modern, computational devices fit snuggly into the desk that she had set aside for its permanent home.  At the end there was not one part missing, not one item extra.  Satisfied, she looked on in awe and stepped out for a drink.

“So, now that the mistress is a away, the rest of us can play!” Spark chuckled.  She and Kam snuck into the computer room while no one was watching.  “Ah, you see, muchacho, there was nothing wrong computer at all!”

“Ha, well, when Zhyan and I had it up and going together we couldn’t get on the Internet,” he rolled a chair over to the desk.  “What are you doing?”

Spark had already typed the name of a web page she wanted to visit: http://www.imhotep!.com and waited about a half minute for it to load.  “He’s such a dream!” she salivated as his image began to form- but the connection was a bit slow and the picture, instead of appearing at once, was loading from the top down.  “What a man!  What an Adam’s suit!”

“What the bloody hell?” the Brit shot back- the Mexican looked on in shock and disbelief.

Yes, it was a picture of Imhotep!, a naked picture, in fact, but where genitals should have been now there were two, somewhat tiny, oddly-shaped pills and a short, blue stump that quivered and began to grow before their eyes- lengthening to a diagonal, up-pointing rectangle with yellow, blinking letters that spelt:

“Viagra!” the distorted voice said from the computer speakers, “Viagra muchachas!”  It seemed to them that the voice was coming from the ‘blue rectangle.’

Two snarves appeared from the side of the picture- the photograph had evidentially been taken on a beach- the pair noticed the off-color member and winked at each other before they spoke:  “Que calientico!”

Spark arose at once and walked out of the room, pale-faced, mumbling something about her ‘ojos’ and her ‘mente.’

“You’re all mine now!” Kam connected to Google and searched for “German Chocolate” and “Cake.”  A thousand recipes were returned in the first page alone- his eyes nearly rolled back white as he gazed upon the near-infinite possibilities of such a divine delicacy.  One of the links had a picture and, of course, he clicked it.  He was immediately transported into a blissful plane that he easily mistook for heaven- or what a baker of his tastes would call heaven.  “I smell another Kam, the Cake-Hunter special,” he thought and wet his lips.

“Oh, no you don’t!”  Peachyra grabbed his shoulder and rolled him out of the way before the spit that had accumulated around his lips had time to trickle onto the computer.  “You are not soiling my keyboard the way you did yours!”

“Huh?” it took him a moment to snap out of the trance that unrestrained cakedom had rapt him in.  “Oh, Peachy’s here, Spark,” he said, looking around the room, “we have to get out, we,” he stood and walked out of the room, his pastry senses aroused past the point of saturation.  “We,” he never did finish that sentence as he vanished into the hall.

“Brits,” the belly dancer sighed.  At last, she had the Internet all to herself.  She checked the local weather report first and all but glanced at the forecast and current conditions until she spotted a line about a frost warning.  “Oh, oh,” she called up a local greenhouse’s web site and saw the same frost warning again.  “My plants!  My poor plants!”  She gasped.  “The seedlings!”

She rushed out of the computer room and headed straight for the den where the hani warrior slept flat on his stomach on the rug before the fireplace.  She thought about kicking him awake but wondered if that would injure him and he certainly could not be injured- not yet anyway.  “Wake up, wake up, Chanur!” she shook him.

The cat yawned and stretched his arms.   “Yeah, what is it?” he asked, his eyes barely open.

“You have to clear the snow around the garden and shrubs and trees and-” she had grabbed him and dragged him up to his feet, to the shovel, to the door that she opened without batting an eyelash, to the frigid, outside air.  “It’s important!”

“Great,” he said as he looked on at the fresh blanket of snow that covered the trails he had dug out that morning.  “I’ve got to find a new group to hang out with.”

“Oh, hurry up, the seedlings!” she wailed and ran back to the computer room, desperate to find cures and treatments for whatever the harsh winter’s cold could do to her precious plants.

 

“He’s at the door,” an agent whispered, his hand pressed up against his earpiece.  He waited for his superior finish her response.  “Yes, he’s got a shovel- he’s heading for the shrubs right now.  I think we have an agent over there already.”  He paused again and meanwhile- as Mandora’s monotonic voice echoed in his head- he crawled on his hands and knees over the snow, toward the fort.  He had to be careful, wearing black and all he could have been easily spotted.  “I’ll wait until he gets closer to the street before I shoot.  Over,” he tapped his earpiece and eased the riffle out from under his jacket.

Chanur looked down on the green, vined plants.  He recalled how Peachyra had used similar shrubs against him- to restrain him and torture him.  OK, maybe not torture him, how could something he liked be considered torture?  Anyway, the vegetation shivered and he fancied that it did so in terror for now he and his shovel could either save the well-manicured lawn decoration or destroy the wretched mass of entangled stems and reek vengeance for his humiliation because he was the hani-

“Erm,” he sighed and looked back at the fort, “she’d murder me.”  He was, technically, an endangered species but it was a card he would rather not use.  After all, being endangered he might end up in a zoo.  A petting zoo- Spark’s cold hands suddenly came back and he shivered as if he had been pinched by icy cold fingers.

He thought he would start nearer the curb.  Why?  Because it was more convenient that way.  And as he trekked across the lawn, a slight twig snap alerted him of a nearby interloper.  His eyes, squinting for the reflected light over the snow was painfully bright, spotted something- a form- black but indistinct near a tree.

“What is that?” he wondered aloud.

A loud swoosh-sound broke through the stillness of the air and he felt a nasty bite on his thigh.

“In the name of Kam’s cake!” he looked at his leg and grabbed the pellet- but the sedative was strong and it worked its effect very quickly- the metal stinger slipped through his fingers and fell to the snow.

“Tagged him,” the agent said, again, hand over his earpiece.

“Quickly, we don’t have much time,” RD said as he and a couple of agents walked up the road to the scene.  Chanur had already been wrapped in a burlap blanket and was draped across the back of two agents who were headed to the camp.  “I’m gonna plant the decoy, I want you guys to cover my tracks, OK?”

“Yes, doctor,” the woman said in reply.

RD followed the footsteps of the agents had made in the retrieval of the hani.  He carried under his arm a folded bundle of golden-colored plastic.  He reached the spot where Chanur had fallen- the shovel remained exactly where he had dropped it- and lay the decoy on the ground.  He pressed a button and the item inflated into the form of the felinoid warrior.  It was his balloon double!  To keep it in place he tied a rock to a string under it and put the shovel in its ‘hand.’

“There,” the madman basked in the glory of his work.  “They’ll never tell them apart!  Never!  Mwahahahahaha!!”

He turned toward the road while the others covered their tracks with their black suit jackets.

 

Cat’s Lair was bustling with activity.  Caterers conferred with Snarf and decorators argued with a much-dense Tygra about the color of the bathroom towels.  Large fans had been placed over wide open windows and candles burned incense throughout the fortress all in an effort to get the cat-smell out.  Even the kittens were forced to wear diapers to keep them from spraying and marking their territory.

“Panthro, when will those grills be ready?” Liono asked, hands on his hips.

The blue panther sat back on his chair and twiddled his fingers.  “It should be done tomorrow,” he growled, “the cement should be dried by then.”

“Good, Snarf certainly can’t cook the feast without them,” he added.  “What else?”

“A guest list,” Cheetara spoke up.  “Have they faxed a guest list yet?”

“Not yet,” Tygra answered, “we’ve only been given a rough estimate of how many might show up.”

“They said we’d get the final list and invites as soon as possible,” Liono said, trying to sound important.  “This ball will be the biggest event of the fandom,” and I don’t even have a dress to wear, he thought.

“Liono,” Cheetara butted into this mental consternation, “what will we do about Rivero?”

Everyone in the conference room gasped and wailed.

“Let’s not panic, let’s not panic,” the redhead grabbed the Sword of Omens.  “Surely they won’t let him near the lair, that’s for sure.  We’ll have to put the Rivero senses on full-power.”

“And everyone has to wear chastity belts,” Tygra added, looking at his crotch- rather, trying to look at his crotch, he had been eating so much cake lately, ever since Thundera Tiger decided to camp at the ‘Lord of the Ring’s’ movie theater, that it had been days since he had last seen his little ‘friend.’  “I miss you,” he whispered.

“What, Tygra?” Panthro asked, leaning into the red-black tiger’s space.

“Nothing, nothing,” he tried to change the subject.  “So we’ve agreed on the belts?”

“Yes,” Liono said, “I’d say that would go without saying.”

The Thundercats nodded.

 

 

Act Three

 

Around MummRa’s pyramid the clime was typical gray and withered.  The barren sands, whipped by merciless currents of cold air, were tortured into disfigured forms of ghastly character and menacing quality.  Broken stumps of petrified trees shivered as if in agonized horror.  Loose bones of long-dead beasts rattled in the stiff breeze as if in terror.  A sludge of tar and putrefied flesh that only those of the evil persuasion would dare call a river bubbled forth its noxious stench of death and decay.

From the clear, cloudy skies a CONTROL ship descended to the level field of rocks and mortared stones that surrounded the ancient structure’s main entrance.  The vehicle’s side door slid open and a rolling plank angled out from under the opening to just over the masonry of the patio.  Officer Mandora and madman RD Rivero emerged- one could almost say, if one was disturbed enough, that the pair walked arm in arm, but no, that was just an optical illusion.   Immediately behind them appeared two agents, both clad in uncomfortably hot black suits.  One hurried down the ramp with his hand on his ear, the other lumbered slowly on account that he dragged a large burlap sack behind him.

“So,” the perverse doctor asked, “where’s our greeting party?”

The agent with the ear problem answered:  “Band Leader’s on his way,” he paused, “he,” he almost jammed his finger through his ear, “he says the lemon meringue cake is just too good to put down.”

“Ah, the old one must have left some of Kam’s cake in the fridge,” Rivero answered.

Mandora’s eyebrows perked up, she had heard a lot of stories about Kam’s cakes- specifically, now, about their addictive properties.  She grunted as though to answer an unspoken question and wondered to herself if she should not investigate that baker.  Undercover work, perhaps.  Under the covers.  Perhaps not.

“Maybe we should go in?”  RD suggested.

“No need, here they come,” the agent quickly pointed to the dark silhouettes of three figures that flickered across the pyramid’s front doors.

“Band Leader,” the agent with the out-of-proportioned sack announced.

“Gentlemen,” the man replied, nodding and wiping his lips- bits of cake stained his otherwise spotless, inky cloak-and-dagger getup.

“We have the Host with us,” Mandora said, stepping back and making room for Band Leader and his associates, Drummer Boy and Guitar Guy, to take notice of their quarry.

“And no one saw his abduction?”  Drummer Boy asked.

“No one,” the insane dictator answered.

“And no one will notice him, missing?

“No one,” the twisted genius answered Guitar Guy.  “I’ve made sure of that.”

“Excellent!” Band Leader exclaimed and quickly resettled himself- showing too much emotion was considered unseemly.  “You two, take the Host to Vocals and Backup, they’ll fix him up real good.”

The agents that came along with Mandora and Rivero nodded in compliance and set into the Egyptian monument at once.

“Great job, officer,” Band Leader saluted the CONTROL representative.  “And you’ve made your country proud, Dr. Rivero,” he shook the evil’s one hand.  “And you shall be handsomely rewarded.”  Guitar Guy reached into his inner pocket, removed a large, white, unmarked envelope and forked it over to defiler.

“Thank you,” he said, himself pocketing the overtly-stuffed stationery item.  “You, shouldn’t have,” he quipped.

“You said we could use the place as long as we wanted, tell me, from what I’ve heard, how did you convinced this, this MummRa-”

“The mummy’s in Luxor, his winter home.  He won’t be back until July.”  Rivero carped in the height of arrogance.  He chuckled:  “He won’t notice a thing, not a thing at all.”

 

Back at the FF fort, Kam sulked around the kitchen.  He was bored and his idle mind desired no more and no less than to be completely and totally immersed in cake and in all things cake.  But the refrigerator was poorly stocked- due in no small part to the other FF members pilfering his supplies and also to the fact that since the hanister’s arrival their reliance on the local supermarkets had dropped off significantly.  The cupboards, too, lacked the flour and sugar and spices and all those other things that a baker of his ‘caliber’ required in the pursuit of his ‘art.’

“Damn it all!” He cried out ala James Bond.  “I guess I should go out and buy the stuff I need myself.”  He turned and looked out a window- the streets and sidewalks were still covered with snow, even the hedges and shrubs around the lair remained uncleared of that powdery white stuff.  “Hmmm,” he rubbed his chin at the sight of Chanur, bobbing up and down next to a bush.  “Maybe tomorrow’s a better time to go to Meijer?  Hmmm.”  He eased up the window just a crack so that he could tell the panther to go to the store for him, but the great burst of winter cold that nearly knocked him off his feet curtailed his last minute change-of-plan.

“Ack!” Spark cried as she rushed into the room.  “What are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Your kitchen!?” Kam got back to his feet and closed the window.  “I’m the fastest baker in these parts!”

“Ha!” she reopened the window.  “You’re not allowed in here, not after that incident with the fish!”

“Excuse me?” he re-shut the frame of glass and wood.  “You were the one who tried to gut Shark, not me!”

She opened again the see-through barrier.  “And if you had helped me we would have had a nice salad that day!”

He slammed closed the prattling interface.  “Well, well,” he stammered, “I need my cake!  I’m so bored, I’m bored out of my mind!”  He fell to his knees in a somewhat pathetic display of tears and groveling.

“Somewhat, que tu dice?”  Spark looked up and tapped her foot.

OK, instant replay:

He slammed closed the prattling interface.  “Well, well,” he stammered, “I need my cake!  I’m so bored, I’m bored out of my mind!”  He fell to his knees in a most pathetic display of tears and groveling.

“Better,” she answered and turned her icy gaze back upon the prostrate Brit.  “Now for you, Kamanchee S’Kah!”  She reached out toward him with her frigid hands agape.

“Hey, what are you doing to my brother?” the archangel fluttered his wings into the room.  “And why wasn’t I invited to torture him?”

“Zhy!”  Kam looked up and squinted at the batboy.  “How can you betray me like this?  I’m your brother, your blood and blood and guts and all that.”

“Mwahahaha!” the damned angelic creature thrashed his head back as he cackled.

“That was the worst RD impression, ever,” Kam retorted as he got back up to his feet.

“Who said you could stand up?” Spark leaned in toward him.

“I-”

“So,” a newcomer interrupted the scene of domestic bliss, “what are you crazy cats up to?”

“Dave?  What are you doing here?” Zhyan asked.

“Yeah, I thought I hog tied you and stuffed you in the furnace,” Kam added.

The greenish pixie strutted up to the man-virus.  “RD said I’d be in this story.  Besides, that was the other day, sweet cakes, today you, ahem,” he poked the Brit’s leg with his elbow, “you inserted your finger in me.”

“Ewww, ewww, ewww!” Spark and Zhyan grimace in unison.

“Oh, yeah,” Kam sweat, adjusted his collar and looked at his hand, at the brown- “Now I remember.  Hehehehe-”

“And you wanted to bake cake!”  the Mexican looked on in absolute revulsion.  “Don’t you wash your hands?”

“What, what?” he rubbed his chin, taken aback by the sudden flurry of questions and accusations.  “Wash my hands, why?”

Suddenly, everyone’s stomach everywhere turned a little.

“Well, anyway, I’m bored out of my mind and since my honeys are stuck in the snow, you guys have to entertain me.”

“Honeys?  Hey, this is no ‘Grand Theft Auto Three’ muchacho.”

“Not that sort of entertainment, senoriata.”  He reached into his pocket, the three turned away prepared for the shock of seeing his- “hey, relax, they’re just cards.  ‘Sides, none of you are my type.”  He swatted the deck noisily between his hands.  “Any one up for poker?” he smiled wickedly.

“Sure,” Zhyan said.  “Where’s Channy, we could use a patsy- I mean another hand.”

“Let’s not play for money,” Spark snuggled up to the archangel.  “Let’s play strip poker!”  She teased her fingers about his chest.

“Well, I’m out,” Kam turned- to gag.

“Erm,” Zhyan shook his head.  “We’re already in a Rivero fanfic, do you really want to compound that horror with nakedness?”

“On second thought,” Spark drew back, “I think you’re right.  Don’t want to temp him-”

“Glad it’s settled, then,” the pixie pimp walked about the FF member’s legs.  “I’ve got a table set up.  Make yourselves comfy-like and I’ll get the hanicator.” 

 

Meanwhile, up in what was now Peachyra’s private computer room, the avatar gleefully surfed the net.  In the course of about four hours she had amassed quite a sizable collection of porn- I mean, risqué photographs- along with every Thundercat lemon- I mean legitimate ‘Third Earth Inquirer Exposés.’  Yes sir-e Bob, she was as happy as a kitten in a blender with her new Gateway equipment- but perhaps chillingly telling was that she was happier with the cow-colored boxes, one of which she had cunningly crafted into a pillow.

“Oh, great,” she sighed, “another Yahoo pop-up!”  She clicked furiously.  “Why doesn’t this thing go away, why, why, why?”  She was about to slam her fist through the monitor- but she glanced a closer look at what the ‘pop-up’ had to say.  “Why, this isn’t an ad at all.”

She sat back for a moment, relieved that that cheap imitation of an MSN site had indeed not invaded her brand new computer.  But, also, she was a bit intrigued.  Apparently someone had been trying to communicate with her, not with any IM service she knew of, though, it was something subtler, craftier.  Something no Bill Gates slave-nitwit had brains enough to conjure up.

On the surface it was just a small window with the words ‘Free Cake’ in bold capitals at the top.  Under it was an inset, a paragraph of utter nonsense, as if someone had taken random words out of a dictionary and then jumbled them around.  “There last act green.  Sprint the groups word.  It’s mirrored top about so, sheesh!”  Beneath that dribble was a yellow rectangle with black text.  A message scrolled by at odd but frantic intervals:  “Help, help, Second Banana.  In scary place with weird-sounding music.  Help!”

“Who are you?” Peachyra typed into a second, thin rectangle.  She pressed enter and her words were printed in the larger space above it.

“Second Banana,” was the reply.

“Second Banana?  Never heard of you.”  She waited for a reply and when none came she added:  “How did you get my- I mean, how are you talking to my computer?”

“I found a console.  I don’t understand the technical jargon.”

“So, let me get this straight, you’re in a scary place and there’s a computer there?”

“It’s one of ours, I think,  it couldn’t have been a part of this place.”

“Can you describe where you are?  You must have seen parts of it-”

“I only know that I was knocked upside the head or something and then I awoke here.”

“OK.”

A long pause followed.

“Please, you’ve got to help me get out!  I don’t know what they’re going to do to me this time.”

“Can’t you tell me anything about your location?”

“I thought you guys would know already!”

“I don’t, I’m not one of ‘you guys.’”

“Oh, shoot!”

A longer pause and she thought the chat had come to an end but then:  “I may have made this place mad.”

“How do you mean?  How do you get a place mad?”

“It’s the music!  I think it’s music.  It’s creepy and chilling and- egad it makes me shiver!”

The Jedi stopped to contemplate the situation.  She cleared her mind and meditated- trying to see what ‘Second Banana’ was seeing.  Her mind, though, remained black but she did not take that as a sign of failure.  Instead, she thought she knew exactly where that joker was IM-ing her from.  “Is it really cold over there?  Are there a lot of tunnels and passages?”

“Oh yes, yes, it’s like a maze!”

“What has RD done this time?” she wondered.  “I think I know where you are.”

“Hurry, oh, oh, come quickly, please!  If that doctor operates on me one more time-”

“Doctor, huh?  Oh, I can only guess at what’s going on.  Don’t worry, peel boy, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!”

The strange pop-up window vanished- only to be replaced by an Imhotep! ad for Viagra.  She turned off the screen in disgust, just in time before the pop-up could fully ‘pop up.’

“What is that evil, plant-hating madman up to now?”  She stood and adjusted her head dress a little.  “Well, this is a job for- Peachyra!  Ha, I’ll thwart his evil schemes!”

She ran down the stairs, down the hall.  She turned left, she turned right, she grabbed her coat and shuffled her boots into her arms.  At last she came into the den where a loud and rambunctious game of cards was being played.

Kam was down to his shorts and a very tight- and sweaty- white tee, which was odd because they were not playing strip poker.  Zhyan looked tense and Spark was fantasizing about dinner- rather, about Zhyan covered in dinner.  How kinky.  Pixie Dave was not amused, being as he was down to his last quarter.  Chanur, on the other hand, remained quiet and motionless- except, of course, for his continuous up and down bobbing- but his poker face had done him well.  On the table before him he had the biggest pile of coins and on his lap were almost all of the baking-Brit’s discarded clothes.  Stranger still was the half-eaten slice of cake near his chips.

Peachyra stood at the door way for about a half a minute.  Of course no one noticed her- she was beginning to learn what it felt like to be RD Rivero.  Anyway, she whistled sharply and the others turned to face her.

“I have to go out, guys, something’s come up,” she hastily explained- Kam raised an eyebrow.  “Don’t wait up for me, OK.”

“Where are you running to?” Spark asked.

“Oh, um, no place in particular, I just have, errands, yeah-”

“Right,” Dave slammed his cards on the table.  “I’m coming with you, toots.”

“What?” she asked, looking down at the green imp.

“These guys are no fun!  I’m down to my last quarter and I sure as hell ain’t taking off my clothes like Kam.”  He turned to the table and raised himself on tiptoe to see the other’s faces.  “I’ve been fingered enough for one day, thank you.”  Chanur bobbed up and down in answer, the rest were not even paying attention.  “Ack!” he grabbed the avatar’s calf, let’s get out of here.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes.  “Fine, I guess.”

Peachyra opened the front door and gasped at the sorry state of her plants- she knew she had sent the hani out to shovel the snow but could he have really done such a lousy job?  He would have to be, corrected, for his ineptitude, she noted.

 

RD entered the ATB’s upper den with a look on his face that Grune had not seen in a long time.  Shocked, the ex-Thundercat greeted his mate with a stunned sort of silence and a wild, unwavering stare.  It was the sort of stare one might cast on an accident on the road side.

“What’s the matter, my sweet?” the mad doctor said, rubbing his kitty cat’s chin.  “Did you miss me last night?”

“Well,” the felinoid stammered, “that and, well, what’s wrong with your face?”

“My face?”  He put his hands around his features, feeling, searching but finding nothing out of the ordinary.  “You don’t mean my smiling, do you?”

“Yeah, that, that’s it,” the gruff lion leaned back, “what must have happened to you?  Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?”  He took the saber lion’s arm and walked him to a table.  “Oh, nothing’s wrong my pet, nothing’s wrong at all!”

“Hey, what’s that bulge?” the mace-wielding evildoer pointed.

“Isn’t it- that, erm, hehehe,” RD reached into his pocket.  “That’s why everything will be better now, much better.”

The mad doctor threw the plain, unmarked envelope on the table.  It unfolded and puckered out to reveal a portion of its contents.  The feline swatted it with his claws and, tearing a rent across it, realized that there was money in the envelope.

“Two hundred thousand US dollars,” the penetrating mastermind bragged, “and a check for a million more.”

“So much money in that little envelope?” the ancient Thunderian commented.

“A plot hole, observe.”  He took the torn item and widened the gash- at once more hundred, fifty and twenty dollar bills flew out of the hole than they had ever seen in their whole lives.

“How did you get a hold of so much cash?  Have you been raiding Berbil villages without me again,” Grune smiled.

“No, better.”  RD sat, the he-cat straddled himself over the disturbed defiler’s lap.  “Remember that call I got last night?”  His mate nodded as he massaged his back.  “It was the government- they needed my help.  Seems there’s going to be a big, state dinner and they had to prepare things just right.  They’re new to the area and, since I’m a card-carrying member of the Republican Party, why, they turned to me for assistance.  Quite a hefty reward for it, too.”

“Yes, yes, but what did you have to help them with?” the cake-breathed saber tooth asked.

He sighed and took a deep breath.  “Afraid it’s classified, but it does have something to do with Chanur.”

“The hanister?  He’s an endangered species, you don’t think they’ll do something bad to him, do you?  I mean, with the drilling in Alaska, I don’t think the Feds would like to have another wildlife scandal.”

“No, no, nothing of the sort, sweetheart.  Although, truth be told I don’t know what exactly they plan to use the hani for- and I don’t really care.”

“Oh, I get a bad feeling about this, RD,” the saber lion said, looking down to face his mate.  “I know he deserves payback and all, but don’t you think you went too far this time?”

“Absolutely not,” the madman retorted.  “Besides, there’s nothing to fear, my squeezable lion, they told me it wouldn’t be permanent.”  He smiled, snuggling up against the Thunderian.  “Don’t you trust the government?”

“Well,” he rubbed his chin, “as a matter of fact- where’s the Fianna fodder now?”

“Why, at the pyramid.”

 

 

“Can we get out of here now?”

“Shhh!” Peachyra scolded the wayward pixie pimp.  “I’m almost done anyway.”

“I tell you,” Dave kicked a foot-full of snow across the wide open field, “this just hasn’t been my day!”

“Shhh!  For the last time, shhh!”  The avatar waved and, through the Force, knocked the scoundrel four feet across the way.  “So Chanur’s at the pyramid,” she stood, carefully avoiding the clear line of sight to the ajar window and quietly wandering from the side of the ATB’s main house, where she had eavesdropped on the miscreant pair, to the scrappy, honey-loving pimp.  “I knew RD was up to something evil- and with the government involved-”

“Is it X-Files time?” The green imp asked as he clamored to catch up to the belly dancer.  “But wait, the hani can’t be at the pyramid, he’s back at the fort playing cards with the others!”

“Unless,” without thinking she grabbed Dave’s head and held onto it as if it was a purse, “unless that wasn’t really Chanur but a double of some sort.  Yes!  Only that madman would be devious enough to do such a thing!”

“Do I dare ask where all this is coming from, or where it’s going?”  Although the imp’s head throbbed and ached from the intense pressure of the avatar’s grip, he had become so used to it after his abuse at the hands of Kam that he had not only come to tolerate it but even found it mildly arousing.

“Ewww,” Peachyra gagged, “stick that back in your pants!”

“It’s just a pen, a pen, I swear!  Erm, a pen-is it!”

She dropped him and continued to walk- in the direction of MummRa’s lair.  “I’ve got to get to the bottom of this, I’ve got to rescue Chanur.”

“You’re not seriously considering breaking into the Black Pyramid?  That’s just insane, that’s loony, toots.”

“It’ll be a piece of cake, you’ll see.  Besides, it all makes sense now,” she thought aloud, somewhat confident in her line of reasoning.  “That must have been him, yeah, but, no.  I, I’m just confused here, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“We’re in Rivero story, babe, what did you expect?”

“Well, if nothing’s supposed to make sense, then it’s only logical that we go to the pyramid ourselves and-”

Parked on the street before the ATB lair was a large, Gateway truck with men in black suits standing at its ends.

“Hey, that tickles!”  Dave fell to his knees laughing, his hand over his butt where a large, frilly dart had embedded into his flesh.  “I feel-” he slumped over, unconscious.

“Oh my god,” she yelped looking back- for a moment she stared at the working end of a pellet gun and then for a long time the world went blank.

 

 

Act Four

 

Deep in the pyramid’s dark and secret bowels, in a room unknown and unseen by mere mortals for thousands upon thousands of years, a pair of unfortunate agents worked amidst a raised dais- a circular platform, circumscribed by five, tall pillars of red stone.  The chamber was so ghastly, so gruesome by its absolute nature that the array of lights suspended over the operating table were kept on low power so that they would not be exposed to the totality of the enclosure’s unwholesome, unholy contents.

The ambiance was stale and unnaturally still, the smoky air was polluted by the dry dust of time and the smell of wet fungus.  The walls groaned, the murals of ancient, Egyptian rituals, rites and evil practices were lit and darkened by the rocking, back-and-forth motion of the lights- the eyes of the icons, the figures of the gods, swayed side to side as to follow the motions of the men as they worked in the semi-darkness.  Whispers of voices, trembles of screams hissed and echoed to their ears from the vault’s unfathomable recesses as if out of the depths of time.

“Jeez,” he looked about one of the scarlet columns, “you think they could’ve picked a spookier room?”

“Quit complaining, Vocals,” Backup said, donning on a green mask, “the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get out of here.”  He turned to the rack of surgical instruments next to the table- upon which was figure, cloaked from head to foot with a dense and heavy green sheet.  “What are our patient’s vitals?”

Vocals pulled back the covers, exposing the hani’s face.  He opened the cat’s mouth and pulled out the tongue.  Clamping into the red flesh what appeared to be a clothespin, a rack of equipment came alive with the panther’s signals.

“Same as when we started.”  He tweaked the dials on the racks, expanding and contracting the green displays of the oscilloscopes.  “No change.  Whatever they shot him with it did the trick.”

“Hmmm,” he wrapped a pair of cleaning gloves over his hands, “keep the ether on-line, just in case.”  The black-suited, would-be doctor approached the sleeping Chanur.  “All right, then, I’m ready to dig in.”

“I’ll get Second Banana,” the assistant said, vanishing into the darkness of the chamber for a moment to retrieve a certain- “OH, NO!” he shouted, running back to the circle of pillars with a cage.

“What’s the matter?”  The doctor had by that time removed a sheet from between the hanister’s legs to reveal a shaved area.

“It’s Second Banana,” he whisked the plastic and metal object in the air, over the patient, under the array of lights, “he’s escaped!”

The cage’s backside had a large hole bitten out of its plastic- its sharp edges were tattered and torn.

“Man,” the agent said, taking off his sunglasses, “and I thought this would be a piece of cake!”

“What are we going to tell Band Leader?”

“We are so dead- and if they make us look for him,” he said, peering around the chamber, “in this place!”

And with that the doors burst open, sending an invading flood of bright light into the room.  The two agents stopped to react to the sudden and unexpected intrusion.  Vocals dropped the cage and reached into his shirt, Backup put his sunglasses back on- he was not about to die with them off and at that moment he feared the worst until-

“You haven’t done anything to the hanicator, have you?” Band Leader asked, agitatedly.

“No, but we were about to, sir,” Backup answered, adjusting his green face mask.

“Thank the gods,” Band Leader sighed and for a moment nearly cracked a smile.  But he promptly corrected that digression.

“We’ve got a problem, sir,” vocals lifted the cage up to the light, “Second Banana’s give us the slip.”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded, “I know.  I’ve got the others running around looking for him.”  He wiped the sweat off of his brow with the back of his black sleeve.  “He broke into one of our computers and started to communicate with the outside world.  He spilled most of our secrets to a Peach, um, a Peachy, argh, a woman with a fancy headdress- anyway, we’ve got her and we’re about to, interrogate, her.”

“Is the jig up, sir?” Backup asked.

“Things have gone from bad to worse.”  He turned to face the door.  “You can come in,” he said to someone apparently still the hall.  “Gentlemen, it seems we’re in something called a ‘riff.’  I’m not sure what that means, exactly, but it seems people are reading what we’re doing.”

Vocals and Backup looked at each other and gulped.

“We’ve been compromised?” they whispered.

“From what I gather,” a figure entered the room, its shadow shaped like nothing else, “bits and pieces of the plot have been revealed,” it had a small, tiny head, “not enough detail to give it all away,” a thin, bulimically thin waist and legs shaped like toothpicks that bulged a little at the knees, “but enough detail that a smart ass or two could connect the dots,” but the bust was enormous, so huge, so massive that the figure had to be very careful about the way it walked so that it did not fall over, “and I’m afraid we’ve got one of those smart asses right here.”  He reached a hand out to the interloper.

“PAMELA ANDERSON!”  The hani was up, literally on so many levels, awake and staring at the PETA representative- Vocals pushed the green blankets down to cover the immodest cat.  The life-signs of the hani went haywire- he drooled and the clamp on his tongue dropped.  “Hot mamma!” He salivated and sprayed saliva through the air.  “ROWL!”

The woman was nearly naked, except for the tassels stapled to her nipples and a thin, really, really thin piece of dental floss that covered her ‘special area.’

“I’m afraid PETA’s figured out our plans and they’re here to see that we stop.”

Pamela nodded- apparently she used up too much of her ‘brain’ to keep from falling over to be able to speak or emote even the slightest facial expression.

“But this is a matter of national security!”  Vocals protested.

“I tried to explain it to her and she pointed out that the hani was an endangered species.”

“Oh man,” Backup ripped off his gloves and stomped on them on the floor.  “We weren’t going to hurt him, permanently.”

“Yeah, that whole Richard Simons thing, that was just a conspiracy theory.  Honest.”

“PAMELA ANDERSON!”  Chanur tried to lunge at the exaggerated caricature of a woman but Vocals and Backup head him at bay.

“The ether, the ether!”

“Why don’t we go back to the, um, lobby,” Band Leader asked Pamela.  She nodded and he helped her from falling over.  “Clean that guy up and ready him for release!  We’ll just have to hope Second- hey, wait a minute-” he smiled at the bimbo, “I think I’ve got an idea- yeah, it’ll even draw Second Banana out, too, I reckon!  Hehehe!”

Pamela’s eyes widened as a brain cell or two sparked and smoke fumed from her ears.

 

A sense of nausea and vertigo alerted her mind and alarmed her to awaken.  She blinked, she forced her eyes open- the darkness that the world had been reduced to had been lifted like a curtain to reveal a warehouse, storage room.  Lights hung from chains attached to the high, skeletal ceiling.  Windows along the upper portions of the back walls were partly open and let in slants of bright morning sun.

She sat up and moaned, cradling her head in her hands.  Blood rushed from her sinuses to the rest of her body, causing her skin to crawl and her stomach to churn.  The effect reminded her of a hangover, but it was more like a passing, fading discomfort.

She did not know or think that anything was wrong, until more and more of her last moments returned to her.  She grew tense, anxious, nervous.  Thoughts of vile horror entered her brain.  She examined herself: bones unbroken, clothes unmarred, headdress still on her head.

It was just that she was in a different and alien place.

She explored the aisle of the storage room.  Crates and bare, brown boxes littered the scene.  She peaked into a large, wooden chest and through the dead, fluorescent light she saw that it contained a package.  A package whose design and logo were oddly familiar.

“Hey, did you hear that?” a voice echoed through the vault, from its source to her ears.

The disturbance came from the distance, but up and down the aisle she neither saw nor noticed anything.  Hearing footsteps she turned around and around and around and got so dizzy in her weak state that she fell to her knees and almost blacked out.

She knew she was in danger, she knew she had to flee and fast.

“Trucks,” she mumbled, “trucks, guns.”

“she’s awake!”

A couple of men rushed to her side.

“I told you we had to keep an eye on her!” the first man said.

“Ah, I watched her all night,” the second man answered.  “It was your turn this morning.”

“Men in-” she turned and looked up- two men in black greeted her with devious smiles beneath shiny, reflective sunglasses.

“Why, Peachyra, is it?  Nice of you to come back to us,” the man who stood closest to a stack of crates said as he angled a hand into his jacket.  “Ready to talk to us now?”

“Oh, she’ll be ready,” the second man scowled as he grabbed her shoulders and dragged her onto a short stool.  She squirmed and struggled but his iron grip kept her in place.

“Dave!” she remembered more, “what have you don’t to Dave, you animals?”

The agent laughed as he pulled a strange-looking item out of his inner jacket pocket.  “The pimp’s safe, for now, anyway.”

“Of course,” the man behind her whispered loudly, mockingly, “if you don’t cooperate, why, we’ll have ourselves a Pixie shake.”

“Cooperate?” she blinked, “and what have I done-”

“We know you’ve been talking to Second Banana,” the agent with the bizarre machine said, slapping it into his palm.  In a split-second move he attached a round, metal disk onto its pointy end.  “We know he’s told you secrets,” he smiled, leaning closer to her, turning on the instrument, “and we want to know what he’s told you.”

The device was a saw and as its blade turned it whizzed a vibrant him and sparkled in the sunlight that broke through the windows.

“Look, mister, I don’t know-”

“You know, my dear, you know,” the man behind her grasped her shoulders tightly.

“And I’m telling you monkey-suited morons that I don’t know nothing!”

“Enough!”  The agent opened one of the boxes- a Gateway box- and pulled out a stuffed cow mascot.  “Don’t make us get messy with you.”

“I don’t know nothing about no second banana or the pyramid or RD’s evil plots.  Honest.”

“Come now, you’ll spill something by the time we’re done with you, either your secrets or your guts.”

“My dear,” he waved the saw before her, “you can make this easy or you can make this hard.”

The agents laughed.

He took the saw and hacked one of the cow’s legs, sending burnt stuffing flying through the air like smoke.  “We know how to tip cows.”

Peachyra’s eyes widened.

“Look, mister, I don’t know what you’ve been downloading about me, but I ain’t all flowers and butterflies-”

“Oh, your Jedi powers?”  He flung the cow back.  On three legs it landed on the floor and fell to the side.  “We know all about that, we’ve read the TCATGR member profiles.”

“Enough chitchat, where’s Second Banana?   Where is he?”

A loud, cracking sound came from a room nearby, the ripping was followed by wails and moans and dull thuds.  The agents stopped and turned to the side- a scream or yell or something filled the air, a figure sped out of a blackened doorway.

“Dave!”  Peachyra shouted.

The green pixie ran up to the stack of boxes near the man with the saw and toppled it with near super-human strength.  The man in black tried to get out of the way but he was too late and at the end was buried by the crates- the unusual saw was sent careening across the cement floor.

Using the distraction to her advantage, Peachyra shoved her elbow deep into the other agent’s thigh, spun around and clamped her teeth on his Viagra place.  The man’s eyes turned red and welled and nearly started out of his skull.  He became very quiet and still- she bit harder and shook her head as if in the middle of an S&M oral session.  He gasped and groaned in octaves so high the human ear was totally oblivious to it.”

“He’s down, come on,” Dave took her hand and tried to get her off of the stool.  “Come on, the guys in the other room won’t stay passed out for long!”

Peachyra released her dental grip, stood and spat on the man in black who fell back and lay against the crates in a state of shock.

“Come on!”

Cursing, dragged by the pixie, she passed the man who had held the saw and kicked him- those parts of him that she could see under the collapsed boxes.

“What manners!”

“We’ve got to get out, hurry!  They’ll be looking for us for sure!”

He led her to a hall, to a wide-open door at the end of a passage.

Outside, in the clear light of the new day, they found themselves in a parking lot.  A parking lot in front of the local Gateway Country Store.  Near its front doors was that truck she had seen so many times yesterday.  Yes, it had been yesterday- whatever they had drugged them with it must have knocked them out real good.

Safe for the moment behind a parked SUV, she clasped the pixie to her bosom and hugged him, kissed him.  “My hero!” she said, “but how did you do it?”

“Yum, yum, the honeys!” the pimp salivated at being so close to her hot, heavy flesh-

“Ewww!” she dropped him.

“Hey, no fair!  Teasing a man like that!”  he got up to his feet.  “It wasn’t too hard- getting away from them, I mean, I was in a small room with them when I woke up.  I knew something was wrong and thankfully,” he crossed his arms, “the slice of Kam’s Tabasco and Tamale cake I ate back at the fort, well, let’s just say, it picked a great time to, disagree with me.”

“Ewww, ewww, ewww!”

He smiled, she turned to wretch.

She caught a glimpse of a couple of men in black as they rushed out of the store.  She got real quiet and motioned him to stay put.  The agents were scouring the parking lot and speaking into hand-held radios.  Some got into the truck and sped around the rows of cars, some crouched and hid behind vehicles.  All the while innocent, unsuspecting bystanders moved about with shopping carts.

Everyone was looking for them, everyone who was still, intact, that is.

“We’ve got to get to the others,” she said, “we’ve got to get help.  I don’t know what Rivero’s up to, but he’s got to be stopped, come what may!”

“So, what’s the plan, toots?” he strutted his threads.

She sighed and peeped around the tires.  Agents were slowly but surely closing in on them.

“I get the funny feeling this is a ‘to be continued’ moment.”

Dave nodded in agreement.

 

“Oh, oh,” she said, crawling about the rough pavement behind the SUV.  He followed close on her heels.  “We’ve got to get out of this parking lot.”

“Wow, genius!  You can say that again!”  He was promptly shushed.

Agents had cast a wide net around the area and were treading in between cars and vans, heading toward the collective center, coming closer and closer.

Peachyra spotted a mall near the Gateway store.  She saw, too and much to her dread, that a man in black with a radio stood in her way.  She growled, knowing that it was against the rules but realizing she had no choice.  The Jedi pulled a Vader and knocked the agent back.

“Quick, we don’t have a moment to spare!” she grabbed the pixie and lunged forward, through the crowds of families that had gathered in the scene, past the cars that were coming in and out of the shopping center, dodging sunglass-toting men and women, running faster and fast to the object of her salvation.

“Whoa, whoa, wait up toots,” the pimp wailed, “I can only go so fast.  Small legs, you know!”

Without batting an eye she thrust him up like a rag-doll and set him snug in her headdress.

“I need eyes in the back of my head!” she sputtered, her voice hardly audible over the sounds of her costume thrashing in her Olympic marathon.  “They’re following us already, aren’t they?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, shaking his knees and covering his eyes with her hair.  “Move left,” he shouted and she replied.  The troop of agents with their weapons in tote moved left accordingly.  “Can’t you make a sudden turn or something?”

“Give me a moment,” she said, jostling her head about.

“careful there, careful,” he was almost knocked out of her blue crown.  “Ah, there’s only three of them chasing us now, a couple of them must have vanished.”

“Vanished?”

“Guess they went back into the store- right, right, right!”

“Right!”

She ducked next to a jeep and turned right, heading across the middle of the lot  surrounding the mall.

One of the three men in black chasing them stumbled on a speed bump and was knocked out of the mission.

“Damn,” an agent cried into his radio, his hand pressed up against his ear to listen to his orders, “the Force is strong with this one.”

“I’m almost there!” she announced- indeed, the mall’s main doors were just in her grasp.

“A new agent’s joined them!” he informed.  The man in the middle dropped his radio and then he himself dropped, gasping all petered out.  “We lost one guy, though, so it’s still two.  How close are we?”

“We’re in!” she shouted as the glass doors magically, mysteriously parted open just at the right moment.

People, gathering around the foyers, watching her situation with morbid interest, applauded in amusement.

“Great, now we gotta blend in!  You can’t just be-”

“Already on it,” she said, spotting a women’s clothing store.  She grabbed the pixie, connected his arms around her elbow and let his body hang.  “Stay put,” she ordered, “stay quiet and act natural.”

“What are you doing, babe?”

“You’re gonna be my purse, now shut!”

Casually she brushed her hair and entered the boutique.

“Hi,” an attendant said, mechanically waving her in, “welcome to the Abyss.  How can we help you?”

“Any coats?” she asked, adding an exaggerated cold shiver for emphasis.

“Why, right at the back, ma’am,” the smiling saleswoman indicated with her thumb.

“Thanks,” Peachyra said as she headed straight to that general area marked ‘winter coats on sale, 50% off.’

And just in time, too, for as soon as she reached the racks, three men in black stumbled into the fountain around the mall’s lobby and were already busy spying about the area.

She took the biggest, largest, heaviest coat form the rack and, making sure no one noticed, she ducked into the changing rooms.

“Keep your eyes shut, you horny bastard,” she spoke to her Dave-purse.

A woman and her two children stepped out of one of the stalls.  Peachy smiled, the older lady gave her an interesting look.  The prude clasped her daughter’s ears and hurried out of the place.

“‘Sides, they ain’t my types,” the accessory mumbled.

“Shut!”

she locked herself into a stall and paused for a moment to catch her breath.

“OK, so now what,” she asked herself, looking at the coat and rolling her eyes.  It was not her style but she knew it was too late to go back for another one.  It would have to make do.  She turned to Dave with a Rivero-esque smile:  “Here’s what we’re gonna do-”

 

A very ugly woman roamed about the mall that morning.  So ugly, so horrid that no one even wanted to look at her, let alone follow her.  The green-skinned hag, complete with hump, walked about in limp gate even while secret agents and innocent bystanders alike dodged out of her path.  She exited the mall without difficulty and there, out in the sun, she spotted a phone booth and, well-

Peachyra dropped the coat and stood up.  Dave refitted himself in her headdress to a more comfortable position.

“That was the worst idea you’ve ever had,” he complained, “next time you get ideas you run them through me first-”

“Hey, buster,” she scolded, “you want me to give you a love bite?”

Pictures of what she had done to that guy back in the warehouse resurfaced.

“I’ll shut up,” he quieted himself.

“Now, don’t you be getting urges,” she said, as she locked him and herself in the tight and cramped telephone booth.  She took him off of her head, just in case he had another ‘episode.’  She picked up the receiver and only then realized she needed change-

Oblivious to her and to Dave, a large truck backed up next to the phone booth.  Workers from a nearby store had come out to greet the delivery man.

Peachyra searched her outfit but could not find even a nickel.

Three men in black suits, ties and dark sunglasses with guns ordered the store workers and deliveryman out of the way, on official government business, of course-

“Dave, don’t you even have one cent?”

“Nope, not even one lousy Rivero,” he said, turning his tiny pockets inside out.

“Argh!” she cursed.

The truck, now under new management, rolled closer to the booth but neither Peachyra nor Dave noticed as they argued about what collect service to use.

“Oh, just dial the operator,” he said, flailing his arms.

She hung up the receiver to rest the dial tone and when she picked it up again she finally noticed too late what was going on.  An agent waved down to her from the top of the booth.  He had attached a hook to the metal framework of the small shed of crystal and glass.  He got off and gave a signal to the truck driver.  The man in the vehicle stepped on the gas and drove off.

The phone booth was ripped from the cement sidewalk and dragged by the makeshift crane setup out of the mall area and into the busy street.  All the while Peachyra and Dave scrambled and screamed within.

Thinking on her feet, she put the receiver to her ear and pressed the ‘zero’ button.  In about ten seconds she heard the operator:  “Oh, you’ve got to help me,” she wailed, “I’ve gotten in a whole lot of trouble with some men in black,” she explained to the voice on the other side of the line.

The truck sped recklessly through traffic, veering wildly left and right, laughing drivers thinking it was all part of a stunt show were careful to avoid the swinging telephone booth that dangled precariously.

“Look, lady,” she cursed as cars along the avenue honked in her direction, “I’m a scantily-clad belly-dancer in a phone booth, being dragged down the street.  You’ve got to help me!  Send CONTROL, send the police, heck, send the Thundercats!  Just get me out of here!”  She stared, wide-eyed.  “You’re a god-damned machine!”  she slammed the phone and smashed it to bits.  “HELP!”  she pounded on the glass at the passengers of cars who stared and pointed.  “HELP!”

“Hey, toots,” Dave said, tugging at her loin cloth- the cheers of a hundred men followed, “toots, I got an idea.”  She looked down at him.  “Just open the booth door a bit and help me climb up to the roof.”

Having no other choice, really, she did what he asked.  Carefully pulling the folding doors back just enough, she eased Dave up to the angled roof.  The truck swiveled to one side and they had to hold on tight but the centripetal action ebbed and they relaxed a bit.

The pimp crawled to that spot where the hook attached to the frame of the booth.

“I’ve got it, now jump!”

Peachyra started to hop around.  It looked ridiculous but after a while she managed to gain enough momentum that the phone booth began to move due to her actions.  She got it to angle just a tad bit closer to the truck and when that happened there was enough slack on the chain for the pixie to unfasten the hook.  Off like a flash the chain flew out of his puny grip and it and the truck melted into the traffic.  The booth crashed on the street, speeding along in a straight line, just as Newton’s wacky lows predicted.

Once again the Jedi and the pixie pimp screamed their lungs out as the whole assembly passed miraculously unscathed through the street.  Sparks and melting tar in their wake marked the progress of their path through the traffic.

At last the booth collided with the curb and stopped.

She peeled back the doors and lumbered out of the booth in a haze.  She found Dave still holding onto what upright was the top of the booth for sheer life.  “That’s OK,” she said, with a shaking voice, “we made it, we made it!”

He opened his eyes, looked around- a small mob had formed around the sidewalk- and started to laugh.

 

It was the middle of the day at Cat’s Lair and that things were hectic was an understatement.  It was a total mess.  Jagga shook his head, he would have intervened but, he told himself, it was best for the Thundercats to learn from experience.

Panthro had put the final touches on the grills he had built for the party.  Snarf and Liono had returned from the markets with the necessary supplies for the diner.  Cheetara cross-checked the guest list for accuracy.  Tygra, smelly and unkept, moped around with a plate-full of cake.  The kittens were no where to be found.

In the stately, prim and proper conference room the adults had gathered for briefing.

“We’ll have to double our efforts,” Cheetara said, rushing to her seat.  “There’s been a change of plans,” she announced, fluffing a pile of papers on her lap for emphasis, “the party’s been bumped back for tonight.”

“TONIGHT!” the others shouted at once, except Tygra- he mumbled and sprayed the circular table with bits of chocolate.

“Why did- they do- that?” Liono asked in a Shatner-esque moment, “what reasons did- they- give,” he added with wild, bizarre gesticulations.

“Band Leader said it was top secret,” she bit her lip and paused, trying to gather the words to announce the rest of the bad news-

“Snarf, snarf!  I’ve got to get to the kitchen at once!  I’ve got to get started immediately,” the small subcreature stormed out of the room waving a spatula like a crazed conductor.

“It only gets worse, guys,” she said at last.

“And how much worse could it possibly get?” Panthro asked in that cocky, imperious tone of his.

She dropped the guest list on the table- one named was highlighted above all others, circled in red and accentuated by exclamation points.  “RD’s been invited.”

At once pained and frenzied animal cries of despair filled the room.  “I’ve checked, double checked, triple checked and it’s not an error or a joke.  His invite is legit and it comes from the highest authorities.”  The others gazed in stares of dazed shock and confusion, lost in a plethora of unnatural and unwholesome memories.

Panthro and his vile urges.  Liono and his incident with certain, blue pills.  Tygra- well.  Poor Cheetara felt a certain sense of dread about her boob area- she crossed her arms over her womanliness.

“He’s a guest of state.  I was told he deserved a seat at the gala for his service to the country.”

“By Jagga,” Liono gasped.

“Oh, man!” Panthro let out a furry of curses that cannot be reproduced here.

Tygra looked at his slice of cake and all but smeared it onto his face.

“Yum!”

“What are we going to do?” Liono stood and paced the table.

“We can’t just let him in.”

“We don’t have a choice, I’m afraid.”

Jagga leaned into the red-head’s ear and whispered:  “Invite the Ferocious Females.”

“Yes, of course,” he snapped, “why didn’t I think of it before!  We’ll invite the Fianna Must Die club.”  He pounded his fists into each other.

Jagga slapped his forehead, the other cats winced at the idea.

“The Ferocious Females, you idiot, the Ferocious Females,” the dead cat snarled and stomped like a three year-old in a temper tantrum.

“No?  Then, how about the Ferocious Females?”

“Sure, they’re liable to keep RD in check,” Panthro said.

Tygra, his face covered in chocolate, lowered his head such that his chin rested on the tabletop and looked at the panther, his white eyes standing brightly out of the pastry mess of his countenance.

“But don’t the Ferocious Females have it in for us, too?” Cheetara asked.

Tygra looked at Cheetara.

Liono scratched his man in a vain effort to actually look serious.  “I suppose we’ll need to invite someone else who can keep them all in check.  But who?”

Tygra looked at Liono.

He looked at Panthro, at Cheetara, at Liono, at Panthro, at Cheetara, at Liono, at Panthro-

“Tygra, Tygra, Tygra,” the kittens meowed excitedly as they entered the conference room, hand-in-hand.

“What’s the matter, you two?” the gruff, blue cat asked.

“We’ve got some good news,” Kit said.

“And some, interesting news,” Kat said.

“For Tygra,” Kit added.

“For me?”  Tygra stood, a little dizzy.  He wiped his lips with his sleeves, dirtying his leotard with smears of cake.  “What is it, kids?” he asked, his voice inflecting ala Pee Wee Herman.  “The good news first.”

“The good news is that Team Tiger has a leader again,” Kit said.

The adults cheered.  Liono told the Spotted One to invite Team Tiger, too.  And then they recalled something about ‘interesting news.’

“What else is there, Kat?” the cheetah prodded.  “What more was there?”

“Well,” he squirmed, his sister pinching his arm, “it’s not Thundera Tiger who’ll be leading it.”

“Not TT?”  Tygra pounded on the table and set his dirty plate and clean fork flying.  “What is the meaning of this, this outrage?”  The cats around him were stunned silent by the prospect.  “What?  Who is responsible?” he steamed- the smell of cake filled the air.

“Surprise!”  A white tigress in jeans and t-shirt broke into the conference room like a missile, like and out-of-control madwoman, knocking the kittens left and right, almost turning them into projectiles.  “It’s me, Silvercat!”

“Um, no, no!”  Tygra’s eyes widened much the same way deer’s eyes do when caught in headlights.  He thrashed his arms as if to shoo away the feme fetal.  But, of course, his resistance was futile.

“You’re mine now, Stripes!”  She took his whip and wrapped it around his neck.  She tugged the leash much like a man would kick the tires of new car.  “All mine.”

“Lady, I have a prior commitment!”

Panthro crossed his arms and yawned.

“Ah, but I’m stealing you away from TT, don’t you know?  For as long as she’s in that Lord of the Rings movie theater, I’ll be the one running Team Tiger.”

“But what about TygrisHawk?  She’s a tiger, too?” He gasped, wasted totally out of sorts.

She poked her elbow into the great mass of his beer belly.  “Now, now, don’t you think you’re a little too old her for?”  She winked, slapping his read and sending him staggering.  “Were are your reflexes?  Your skills?  Your Thunderian physique?” she lamented as she looked upon his thoroughly unseemly form.  “You know, I have a picture of you looking just like this, but I thought for sure it couldn’t have been the real thing.  Yeah, I laundered one of my shirts and when it came out it was all shrunk and misshapen- and the picture of you on it, why, well, gee, it’s like a mirror of you now, hehehe.”

Cheetara blushed. Liono, bored, was pressing down the rounded knob of his crotch-cup, forming a dimple.  It would pop back up making a strange, ding-like sound.

“Anyway, you’ve been eating too much cake, you fool!”  She tightened the noose around his neck.  “We’re gonna have to work that gut off, now quit complaining!”  Tygra struggled.  “You don’t want to be a sitting Tygra for that evil, twisted, vile, twisted RD, do you?”

She led him to the door with the whip.

“Save me, save me!” Silky Stripes wailed as he and Silvercat vanished into the hall.

“You silly Tygra, you’ll thank me later for his, you’ll see.”  With the crack of the whip she directed him through the lair.  “But first you have to feel the burn!”

Panthro and the kittens excused themselves to help Snarf with the preparations.

“We have to get those invites out to the FF and Team Tiger at once!”

“Already on it,” she said, running out of the room at the speed of cheetah.

“Ah, there’s nothing like having absolute control,” Liono said, reclining on his chair as the Lair succumbed to a level of chaos and hysteria never before seen.  “Ah!” he sighed and leaned so far back that he fell over- Jagga gave him the finger and laughed.

 

“You mean we’ll actually get to meet him?”

RD adjusted the collar of his olive green shirt.  Tweaking his mustache, he said:  “Of course, my sweet.  Why, I might even get to shake his hand, too.”

“Oh, oh, will there be pictures?  We’ll have to take a picture of it-”  Grune rushed to a cabinet in the back of the bedroom to fetch a camera.

The disturbed man smiled and then realized that the camera might be viewed as a security risk.  The perverted bad-ass walked over to the saberlion and gently took his paws into his hands.  “Now, now, don’t know if they’d appreciate that.  The Blundercats might convince them we’re up to no good.”

The cat frowned gruffly.

“It’s a security risk, honey, I don’t want those dunces in the lair to have any excuse to kick us out.”

The Thunderian purred softly and looked at the man with maddening, unblinking eyes.

He snuggled up to his bare arm and rubbed his hand up and down its muscular length.  “Alright, alright, have it your way.  You can bring the camera.”

The lion smiled and patted his mate’s head.

“I knew you’d come around,” he said, in triumph, retrieving the metallic item from the stash of undershirts that littered the drawer, “you humans can’t resist us cats.”

“Hahahaha,” RD kissed his cheek and played with his mane, holding him in a slight embrace.  He sighed:  “And how can I resist you, my squeezable lion?”

The pair kissed and groped for about half a minute.

Walking into the closet, the saber toothed pulled out a fresh and clean copy of his usual outfit.  “So, who else will be there tonight?”

Standing in front of the mirror again, practicing his finger-wagging, RD said:  “The Blundercats, dignitaries, ambassadors.”  He put on his evil face and grin.  “Need help with that?”  He turned around- Grune sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his shorts up.

The cat smiled and spread his legs apart to give the man a better view.

“You are such a tease!” he said, turning back to the mirror.

“ROAR!”

“It’ll be more fun taking them off, though-”

“ROWL”  Grune got up and surprise-hugged the strange man from behind.  “You’re in a happy mood, aren’t you?”  He snuggled his face next his mate’s-

RD rubbed his chin and looked into his eyes, albeit the eyes of his mirror image.  “And why shouldn’t I feel happy?  I have absolute power, I have avenged myself of Chanur and now I’m rich, rich beyond my wildest dreams!  But you know what else, my sweet?”

“What?”

He spun around in the uber-lion’s massive biceps.  “And you’re mine, all mine!  I’ll have my cake and eat it too!”  He kissed the Thunderian on the lips.

The cat smiled, he, like all cats, knew who the real master was in the feline-human relationship.

 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t get it babe,” Dave said as he opened the door and stepped on the curb- a pile of inch-high snow greeted his foot.  “It just doesn’t make any sense, even if Rivero’s writing this crap it still ought to try and make sense.”

Peachyra sighed.  She gave her credit card to the taxi driver and while he processed the order she said:  “I’ll admit I can’t see the whole picture, either, but little by little the parts are falling together.  A noisy dot-matrix printer produced her receipt- she signed it and was given her credit card back.  She pushed the pimp out of the way and exited the vehicle.  “I hate being in the dark.”  She slammed the door shut and the cab sped off.

She breathed in the cool, winter air.  It seemed like an eternity since she had last been to her fort- despite the fact that it had only been yesterday since her ordeal began.  Lately the Evil One’s stories were getting longer and more drawn out.

“Chanur was taken by RD.  Why, I don’t know.”  She paced around the sidewalk.  “It involves MummRa’s Pyramid and men in black.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about that part where the hanister was taken,” the pixie protested.  I was playing poker with him before you and I started on this crazy quest.”  He looked up at the fort, at the snow that covered the scene.  “And he was beating me, too.  He was even eating Kam’s cake!”

“Hey,” she pointed to a section of snow on the up-sloping lawn, “look at that.”  It was trail- or at least what remained of a trail that someone had tried to cover.  A sprinkle of newly-fallen snow coated the rubbed-out indents of footsteps.  On either side of the disturbance was pure, virgin snow that, of course, only made the path more obvious.

She followed the outline of the pattern from the sidewalk to a shrub.  A crater of snow, large enough for a panther the side of Chanur to fit in, was carved out of the area around the greenery.  She concentrated on the vibes and aura of the-

“So, what did you find, toots?” the pimp ask- he struggled through the snow.

Jarred, she answered:  “I sent him to shovel,” she inspected the panorama of the vista.  On the same level as the main entrance of the fort and slightly elevated above the street, she had quite a view.  “He was probably here when they took him, the men in black.”

“Now, from what I’ve heard about this dictator, he doesn’t use men in black, only the Feds have them.”

“And what do you know about Feds?”

“I’m a pimp, dearie, just who do you think are my biggest customers?”

Peachyra blinked.

“So he’s working with the Feds.  He takes the hani and replaces him with a balloon double.”  She nodded, the full scope of his evil slowly coming into view.  “And it wouldn’t be the first time he’s used balloon doubles, either.”

“Ah,” the green imp scoffed, “that’s nonsense.  I still say I would’ve spotted a balloon double.”

“Oh, hush!”  She walked to the door and was about to knock until she found a note posted on the entrance.

“But even if he did abduct the hanister, why’d he do it?”  Images of furniture and accessories came to his wee brain-

“Exactly,” the Jedi said.  “Great, they’ve all gone to a party.”

“A party,” he took a swipe at the note and the tickets taped to the back.  “Oh, oh,” he shrugged.  “This is not good.”

“A party in Cat’s Lair of all places,” Peachyra continued to rant, “as if our fort wasn’t good enough.”

“Toots, this is bad, really bad-”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen this before,” he pointed to the tickets that invited them to the gala, “I told you about guys in the Feds being my client.”  He indicated the embossed emblem- a crested eagle.

Her eyes widened.  “Come on,” she grabbed his arm and opened the door, “we’ve got to get ready for this party.  Everything’s coming into place and we’re about to get to the bottom of it!”

 

 

Act Five

 

In the short course of long hours, the Thundercats had converted their stately lair into a Ritzy, Monte Carlo-type pleasure palace.  The halls and passages, ordinarily dark and austere, were lit with bright lamps and garnered with onyx busts of Thunderian greats, decked with glossy wreaths of knotted laurels.  Meeting rooms and vast, storage chambers, usually littered with spare parts and rubbish, had been dusted and cleaned spotlessly, decorated with paintings and architectural drawings, photographs of Thundera and atlases of Third Earth.  Museum pieces were set in glass enclosures and put in place around clusters of chairs.  The soft glow of lamps added to the ambiance a smoky dreamland other-worldliness that the timeless, melodic, Mahlerian music in the background accentuated perfectly.

Snarf slaved over the stove and watched the ovens and grill- the kitchen air was warm with the aroma of barbecued beef.  The kittens took turns coming in and out of the double-hinged doors to cart cups, plates and dinnerware to the various dining rooms.  Liono paced nervously- de-sworded, for security reasons, he felt naked and helpless.  Cheetara coordinated the night’s activities with Band Leader.  Panthro and Bengali were outside in a shed next to the extended bridge- along with Guitar Guy and Keyboards, they were the high-priced ‘bouncers’ of the gala.  Pumyra was in the control room with Vocals and Backup, checking and monitoring the goings on in and around the fortress.

Tygra and his new master, Silvercat, were- elsewhere.

The sun sunk under the horizon by the time the first of the A-list guests arrived at Cat’s Lair.  They stopped their limos before the bridge, valets- men in black- took possession of their vehicles.  They walked across the de-iced bridge to the shed where Panthro and other, under-cover agents checked their tickets and invitations.

 

The members of the Ferocious Females- most of them, anyway- had arrived at the lair a half-hour late.  Uneasy about spreading out and mingling with the other guests, they gathered by the main staircase and conversed among themselves.  Spark leaned on Zhyan, Kam paced, TygrisHawk stalked and Chanur- the balloon double- bobbed and weaved in the gentle currents of the air.

“So, this is how celebrities live?” Spark asked as she sipped a thin-stem glass of fire-water.

The archangel yawned.

“Yeah, I get that feeling, too,” Kam said, adjusting his shirt collar.  He thought his tie was a bit tight and tried to loosen it.

“Stop playing around with it,” she complained, grasping his tie in her cold, chilly hand and passing her empty glass to a passing WileyKat.  “It took forever to get those things on you guys right,” she said.

“But I’m choking-”

“And that’s a bad thing,” the four-legged tiger quipped.

“Quit complaining,” Zhyan said.

Kam sneered and continued to struggle with his tie, Spark’s hands- cold hands- and his devious, monstrous urges for all things-

“Why can’t you be more like Chanur,” the disturbed Mexicana added.  She pointed to the decoy- still attached to a rock, the inflated, plastic figure bobbed up and down as if in morbid agreement.  “He doesn’t mind his tie, do you, gatico?”  She rubbed under the balloon’s chin.

It seemed to rise a bit off of the floor.

Zhyan rolled his eyes:  “Man, this blows!”

“You can say that again,” TygrisHawk growled.  “What’s a tiger to do in this place?”

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” WileyKit asked- she brought a plate of crispy crackers up to the archangel.

“Why thanks,” he smiled and swiped a couple of entrees.

Kam undid the topmost button of his monkey suit, his tie- a misshapen knot of fabric- dangled limply.  “You know, I just figured it out, I know what this party needs.”  Everyone turned to the Brit- even the hani- in shock and, well, just shock hat the virus-man actually had an idea in his head.  “This place needs cake!”

“Oh, oh!” Spark wailed.

“Where’s the kitchen?”  He looked about eagerly.  He spotted the kittens as they moved around the crowds with trays of goodies.  “There must be a kitten in this place.”  He stepped away from the group to follow the twins.

“Ah, ah, you ain’t talking over this kitchen, if I have anything to say about it!”  Spark ran off after the unsanitary cook.

“Um,” TygrisHawk said, “I’ve got to visit the little cub’s room.”  Silently she slithered about the room and vanished in the crowd.

Zhyan sighed and adjusted his collar- the tie was definitely too tight.  “Damn this blows,” he gleaned a side view of the hani.  “You’re being very quiet, no belly aching, no nothing.”  He looked at the bobbing Chanur.  “I don’t know if I’m disturbed or if I like this new attitude.  Anyway,” he put his hands in his pockets.  “I’m off to mingle!”

As he came to a table where a round of roulette was being played, a couple of men were approaching the hani- well, not exactly.  They were more interested in a picture of a Thunderian continent that hung on the wall behind the decoy.  The two were engaged in a serious discussion about the geography of that long-dead planet.  Laughter- one of them asked the golden panther a question- it bobbed up and down as if in answer.

Zhyan bet five chips on number twenty-three.  The wheel was sent spinning and the ball released.  He waited for the result and took a moment to look back.  A crowd had gathered near the hani.

“Thirty-one,” the man announced- frenzied shouts followed as betters lost money.

The archangel rubbed his chin.  He had collected quite a sizable pile of chips despite a few losses.  He set another stake on number eleven.

“Seems to be a hit,” he said, noticing a woman talking to the balloon double.  “What is it about cats, anyway?”

 

WileyKat entered the kitchen, crashing through its wide, metallic, double-hinged doors.  “Snarf,” he called, looking left and right.

Slabs of raw meat and ribs hung from hooks on the ceiling.  Vegetables and garnishes sat idle on the wooden, chopping tables.  A flurry of secret agents tasted and verified the integrity of the ingredients while on duty.

The chaotic mess dwarfed the tiny cook.

“What is it?” he asked, his crooked, white hat thrashing as he spoke.

“The appetizers are cold,” he lowered the plate he held down to the subcreature’s level.  “They have to be reheated.”

Snarf pointed to the microwave:  “Hurry!  Set it for a minute,” he ordered the kitten, “I’ll alert Silvercat.”  He pushed a stool up to the intercom.  “By Jagga, I feel like the captain of the Titanic 47.”

The boy placed the entrees, one by one, in a glass baking pan, set it in the large, walk-in microwave, shut the door, turned the timer to a minute and stopped- he kept a finger over the ‘start’ button and looked to Snarf to give the cue.

All the while in the excitement no one noticed the presence of a couple of guests in the kitchen.

 

In a dungeon chamber in the basement of Cat’s Lair, the Thundercats had set up a makeshift exercise gym and power generator.  Tygra himself was chained by the ankles and wrists to a bike and forced to cycle endlessly by the prodding of Silvercat’s intermittent whippings.  Driving him onward, his only source of comfort and inspiration, was a luscious and juicy slice of chocolate cake that dangled precariously before the t-bar.  Out of reach but not out of mind, he moaned and salivated- and begged-

“Please, Silvercat, I NEED IT!”

The white tigress pat his sweaty head:  “You’re doing so good, Stripy, you’ll be lean and fit in no time soon.”  She tapped on a dial attached to the machine that Tygra’s non-stop peddling supplied with power.  Reading the output she said:  “Sixty amps!”  She rubbed his chest.  “My, you’ve certainly been eating way, way too much!  We can’t have that happen anymore.  Cats have no business being out of shape like that, especially Thundercats.  I mean, who’d want to drool-”

A voice called through the distance:  “Snarf to Silvercat, Snarf to Silvercat, come in, please.”

“-- at the site of a jiggly tub of lard like that.  I certainly would want,” the continued her mini-lecture as she walked to the intercom:  “Silvercat here.  What is it, Snarf?”

“I need to use the microwave for at least a minute,” he said.  “I’m gonna need more power!”

“Gotcha,” she signed off and cracked the whip at the object of her lusty desires.  “You heard him!  Faster, Tygra, FASTER!”

The red tiger made a sound- a sound that was like a cross between a groan and the deflating growl of a whale dying.

 

The clouds parted and revealed an ominous, yellow moon that loomed high amidst the stars of the night.  In the muffled distance, a lone wolf bayed and howled at the majestic crown of sparkling jewels adorning the heavens.  A cold breeze ruffled tree branches and shook dead leaves to the ground where they crackled as a pair of boots trampled over them.

Bystanders, innocent and wicked alike, turned to see.  They gasped, wide-eyed, as a man in green fatigues approached the lair’s bridge.  Whispers echoed among the crowd, glances were given, names were exchanged.  The wave of horror traveled person to person until word of the Evil One’s presences was known at the other end of the bridge, long before he himself had begun to cross it.

 

Up in the control room, under the patrolling sway of the roving head, red lights flashed and an alarm rang.

Pumyra blinked and rubbed her eyes- the siren had awoken her abruptly and cruelly disturbed her from a most erotic dream.  “WileyKat,” she whispered as she sat back, realizing too late that it had just been a dream.

But the alarm persisted and now, completely in her senses, she knew what it meant.  Her hands shaking, her lips trembling, she grabbed the radio-

“Liono here,” he answered, his voice broken by the static, “what is it, Pumyra?”

“It’s,” she pointed to the main screen, to the image of the man and his lion as they traversed the extended bridge.  “It’s Rivero.”

A silent panic reached her ears from the other side of the two-way communicator.

“He’s coming, he’s here,” she announced.

A whisper:  “Jagga help us!” he gasped.  “Stay calm, let’s not panic.”

“Grune is with him,” she said, unable to restrain a frantic giggle of giddy shrieking any longer.

 

RD handed his and Grune’s tickets to a man in black- a bright spotlight shown on them from above.

“Two invites,” he said, in the throws of utter cockiness, “one for me, one for the insane, saberlion.”  He turned and smiled at his mate who all but clung onto his arm.

“Check him for weapons,” Panthro growled.

Bengali, hidden in the shack, nodded in agreement:  “He’s dangerous man,” the white tiger stuttered.

The agent who examined the tickets said:  “This says he’s a guest of honor.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” the dictator replied, “national security, no?”

The agent returned the tickets to the deranged man and proceeded to frisk him.

“No, I want him to do it,” the sicko said, pointing to Bengali.  “I want Bengali to do me.  You can check Grune.”

The man in dark glasses approached the ex-Thundercat- the lion growled- the agent stepped away and checked a couple of lines on a clipboard.

“Well, I’m waiting, honey,” RD winked at the shriveling tiger.  “Don’t you want to touch me no more?”

Everyone looked at the blacksmith- he smiled and nervously fretted with his hands.  “I don’t know, really, I’m not very good at frisking.”

“That never stopped you before,” the cruel bastard said.  He turned to Panthro- the blue panther was leaning heavily into his space.  “Jealous, kitty-kat?”  He poked the Thundercat’s crotch and pressed its bulge in- oddly, the rather large dimple did not pop back.

The black-maned lion snapped a quick photograph- the bald cat steamed in rage, an agent held him back with an arm-

“This man doesn’t need to be checked,” RD said.

“This man doesn’t need to be checked,” the man in black said.

“He can pass.”

“He can pass.”

“Move along,” he said with a wave for emphasis.

“Move along!” the agent ordered, sternly.

RD nodded in deference and he and Grune went on along their way.

“That was a close call,” Bengali said, only now coming out of the small, closet-shaped enclosure.

“Shut up,” Panthro shouted and poked about his crotch to try to undo the crater-sized dimple.

 

The devilish pair walked through the front doors, laughing.

“You know,” RD began, “I don’t think the panther liked his last porno role.”

“Well, he was half-asleep most of time,” the lion said.

“If you were in one of my pornos,” the imperious imperial replied, “you’d want to be out cold, too.”

“Hey, wha’chya talking about?” he let out a roar of mirth.  “I’ve been in a couple of your pornos.”

“Oh, that’s right,” the madman said.  “I’ve written so many, I tend to forget.”

“Anyway, Panthro needs more fiber in his diet, he needs to eat more fruit.”

“And what do you think he’s been doing with Liono?”

Grune shook his head.  He stopped and looked at a folded-up newspaper.  ‘Cheezey’s Third Earth Inquirer.’  The banner’s front-page headline:  “RD AND TYGRA CAUGHT IN WILD SEX ROMP!”

“Amateurs,” RD quipped, “as if something everyone knows was front page material.”

“I wonder when my sex romps with Liono will make the papers,” he pouted.

The dictator petted his mane:  “Soon, you’ll see, we’ll just have to take better pictures of it next time.”

The two stopped in the main hall of Cat’s Lair.  Already nearly all of the guests had arrived, but the man of honor remained out of sight.  The puny human reassured the Thunderian that he would come out at the end, that he was held back for security reasons.  Satisfied, the pair decided to mingle with the guests.

They walked past TygrisHawk.  The assassin-in-training stared at them, jaw-dropping, from the safety of the cover of plants that surrounded a sparkling fountain.  If he was there, that could mean only trouble.  She had to tell the others at once.

“Well, speak of the moron,” RD said- the red-headed lion turned to see him.

Their host stepped back and gulped.  He had no sword and knew he was totally and completely powerless.

“That’s OK, Liono, we know you’re totally and completely powerless.  We’re not here to play with you tonight,” he tapped his tan, furry belly.  “Ah,” he took in the totality of the scene:  party-goers gambling at roulette and backgammon, musicians playing in the background.  “What this place needs is a troop of dancing Grunes.”

The sabertooth smiled coyly.  “Oh, you’re so romantic!”

Liono rolled his eyes and stepped away, far away from the hellish duo- best to let sleeping cats lie, he told himself-

 

“What are you trying to do?” Kam complained, again.

Spark set the knife down- it was a dangerous, no, foolish thing to do, disturb her while she chopped.  She stared daggers at him and said:  “And what is it this time?”

Shrinking in his shorts a bit:  “You have to slice the carrots at an angle,” he demonstrated on a thin, scrawny specimen on her side of the table.

She clasped his hand in her own cold paws and thrust them back.  “Stay on your side of the kitchen, virus muchacho,” she growled.

The Brit leaned back- from the double doors to the grills, from the freezer to the chopping block, over meats and vegetables, under plate and utensils, through appliances and receptacles was a thin strip of yellow tape that demarcated the Spark-half and the Kam-half of the kitchen.  All the while Snarf, the kittens and the agents wandered about oblivious to the pair and their antics.  Being guests invited to keep them safe from Rivero, the Thundercats were willing to tolerate their fuming presence- the agents were easily bought with scraps from the table.

“My cake will be the hit of the show,” he said, proudly.  He slid across the tabletop an assortment of chopped beats, carrots, a whole, unsliced onion and relish into a deep, metal bin.  He sighed as thoughts of cake filled him mind- he almost dropped the dish. When cake was in his mind there was seldom enough room for much of anything else.

“Que idiota,” the Mexican scowled.  “Cake at a gala like this?  It’ll be the star of the toilet bowl.”  Carefully garnishing her dish with the ingredients that she had spent her time artfully preparing, she walked to the oven, put the metal basin on the top rack and took a second from the bottom.  Bringing it back to the wooden table she said:  “See, my roast will be the delight of this evening’s diner.”

The man-virus looked at her fresh-out-of-the-oven platter and scoffed.  He set a thick, gooey mush into his dish.  He mixed it and let it set for a moment.  He did his own number with the oven racks and brought back to the chopping block the metal basin that contained his finished product.

“Oh my god!” Spark held her nose.  “You put mustard on that cake?”

“Yes, yes I did.  Grey Pupon,” he said, proudly.

“More like gray, popped-on.  Argh!  No mustard in my kitchen!  I won’t have it.”  She saw that the cake’s top was expanding.  “What’s it doing?  That better not be Viagra cake!”

“Hmmm,” he rubbed his chin.  “Maybe it has gas.”  He poked a hole into the cake at the very moment that WileyKit entered the kitchen.  Loose cake matter sprayed in the air to accompany the ripping sound of the pastry passing gas.  It was loud enough that people outside in the gallery heard it.

Snarf wretched and the men in black waved their hands over their noses.

Spark and Kam blushed and smiled at the crowd- WileyKit had not taken a step into the room for the obscene smell of it stopped her in her tracks, leaving the door open.  The two turned and went about their business, the kitten left without a word and with that things went back to ‘normal.’

 

“Now keep quiet,” Peachyra ordered.  “I don’t want you making a scene.”  She handed the invites over to Bengali.

Panthro was in the back, goofing around with his crotch- Dave noticed that it had thoroughly imploded.

“Careful,” the white tiger said as he gave the Jedi the ticked back.  “The madman’s here.”

“Rivero?” she smiled.  “Yes, I felt him.”  She grabbed the pixie’s hand.  “We’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough,” she sped into the lair, the green imp dragged over the ground.

“Hey, toots,” he wailed, “even Kam’s kind enough to warn me before abuses me!”

“Oh, hush or I’ll turn you into a hand bag.”

 

A plume of steam was whistling and rising from the oven to the ceiling.  The smoke was not strong or thick enough to set off any alarms, but its delicious aroma had aroused plenty of appetites in the kitchen.  It had especially aroused one irate and impatient snarf.

“My baked fish,” the impish creature rushed from the freezer to the kiln, dropping cans of vegetables left and right.  Panicking, he donned on a mitt and opened the door- a brown haze bellowed out of the darkness like a mushroom cloud.  “Snarf, snarf,” he whisked the vapors away with his gloved hand as he wailed.

He pulled out a rack that was almost five feet long- yet it was even long, most of its girth remained within the oven.  Upon the thin, wire frame was a black, oval-shaped dish and lid- the set was equally as large, if not larger, as the shiny grill.

“Oh and I’ve been working on it all day, too!”  He lifted the lid under which more fumes vented and parted to reveal the baked contents.

“Oh my devil!” Spark pressed her hands over her lips.

Kam’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

Snarf had Shark in the oven!  The poor fish had not even been gutted but rather roped into place and, sometime after his heat death, had had a very large apple lodged into his teeth.

“Snarf, snarf,” he poked a finger onto the tough, leathery hide.  “I’m afraid it’s gone dry!”  With a ladle he spooned the shark’s own juices over the flesh.  He examined the apple- it had carbonized.  He pried it out of the mouth but in so doing he had activated a dormant reflex in the merman.

The jaws opened and thrust out, taking the snarf’s hand in.

“Ahhh!”  the subcreature shouted- blood poured from the wound and the taste of it awoke Shark.

His fins came out of the deep dish- the agents and cooks looked on frozen in shock and horror almost as helpless as Snarf himself- and grabbed the subcreature, shoving him all the way into his gut!

“Yum!” Shark exclaimed, sitting up on the bottom half of the deep dish tray set, two feet above the floor, at the edge of the dangling rack.  “Hmmm, hmmm,” he rubbed his tummy. “:9”

The oven grill snapped and he and his juiced tumbled to the floor.

“Kam!  Kam!  What are we going to do?”  she tugged at his arm, suddenly her hands were not as cold as they had been before.

The man-virus mumbled:  “Spark, what happened?”

“The food bit back!”  She shook him from the scruff of his shirt:  “Don’t you get it?  We have to cook everything for everyone for this whole evening OURSELVES??!!”

“Ahhh,” he gasped and slid his head side to side.  His eyes rolled back white and with that we was out colder than a dead-

 

“RD!” a stern voice shouted through the crowd.  “You have some explaining to do!”

“Yeah, some explaining,” a pixie hollered.

The madman and his lover turned to face the intrusive intruders.  The music stopped and the idle chatter of the crowd had come to an end.  The people’s eyes were on the blond Jedi master who was dredging through them, squirming pimp in tow.

“Why, Peach, long time no see,” RD said, tweaking his mustache, “mwahahahaha!  And here I thought we had lost you to an episode of Survivor.”

She dropped Dave- the imp let out a gasp as he hit the floor with a thud.  He struggled to his feet and brushed off the dust on his threads.

“I almost got killed because of you!”

“Killed, because of me?” he scoffed.  “How- unthinkable.”

“Argh!” she used the Force to hurl a plate in his direction but Grune smashed it in mid-air.  “I know you kidnapped Chanur and replaced him with a balloon double!”

The small, gathered group of Ferocious Females in the corner by the stairs scrutinized the bobbing and weaving form of what- for almost two days- they had assumed was Chanur.

“Hey!  She’s right!”  The archangel lifted the inflated, plastic doll and spotted the string-and-rock combination at its base.  “This is outrageous!  This is preposterous!  This is an insult!  Can we keep him?”

“You can’t prove nothing!”  He opened a can of Dr. Pepper and sipped it.

“Ha!  I found the trail outside the fort and then when I went to the ATB I heard you talking about him.  And MummRa’s Pyramid.  And something about it not being permanent-”

Band Leader and a pair of men clad in black emerged from the faceless, formless crowd.

“And I know about Second Banana, or should I say Chanur!  What have you done to him, you, you-”

“Me?” he asked, looking ever so innocently, glowing halo above his head.

“You evil, sick, perverted, evil, crazed maniac!”

Gasps sounded from the audience.  They all knew Rivero was an evil, sick, perverted, evil maniac.  But never would they have guessed that he was a crazed maniac.

“Dave and I almost got killed today by men in black just like that!”  She pointed to the agents.

“Yeah!  What she said,” the pixie wagged his finger at the cruel dictator.

Grune took snapshots of the imp, the robed Jedi and the stoic-faced agents.

“I don’t know nothing,” RD said, “but I assure you that the hanister is safe.  Hehehe, for the moment, anyway.”

“Yes, Chanur is safe,” Band Leader said.  He turned to the crowd of on-lookers: “And there’s nothing to see here, folks.  Why don’t you ladies and gentlemen return to this night’s activities,” he smiled and directed the musicians to resume playing.

Zhyan, TygrisHawk and the balloon double approached the small scenelet where the lead agent was still speaking.

“Chanur has not been harmed,” he assured Peachyra, “here he comes now.”

A very misshapen caricature of a woman ‘walked’ (if such was the word) into the area.  More plastic than flesh, the figure was almost naked except for a golden mass of fur that covered certain body parts.

“Pamela Anderson,” Zhyan whispered.

The white tiger on the floor smirked unimpressed.

“What have you bastards done?”  Peachyra saw that curled up coat and thought the worst.

“Relax,” the fur said, unfurling itself.  Suddenly a head, arms and legs appeared and the coat- that had adorned Pamela from the breasts to the lower body- stepped aside.  “See, I’m OK!”

The sabertooth was taking snapshot after snapshot of the entire ‘transfiguration.’

“Oh, drat,” the winged-one stomped.  “Now well have to get rid of the double.”

The Jedi rushed to the hani and scratched his head.

“Oh, Peach, Peach, it was terrible!” he purred.  “I woke up in this dark and scary room and those men,” he pointed to Vocals and Backup, “were about to do something weird to me.”

“I see,” she scowled at RD.

“It wouldn’t have been permanent,” Band Leader explained, “it’s just that at the time we needed a place to put Second Banana, a host of sorts.”

“So, Chany isn’t Second Banana?”

“No,” the head agent said.

“Then who’s Second Banana?”

Vocals leaned into Band Leader’s ear:  “Sir, the ambassador to China wants to speak to the VP.”

He agreed with a nod and with that the dignitary walked to Pamela and spoke to her breasts-

Grune captured the moment with another picture.

“So, Dick, when do I get to have my own, undisclosed location?”

“The VP?” Peachyra asked, bewildered.

Something between the Peta rep’s breasts, something small and under the flesh, started to move and speak-

“Yes, we’ve had to shrink him for, security reasons.”

“OH MY GOD!  This is sick, sick, this is just sick.  And perverted.  This is sick and perverted.  It’s sick and perverted beyond all comprehension!  Who could have dreamt up something so sick, so-” she turned a glaring eye at the Evil One.

RD smiled and put down his empty can of soda.

“We were going to do something to Chanur, something ala Richard Simons,” Band Leader elaborated.

“Too bad they couldn’t do the snip-snip on him,” RD lamented.

“And what ever gave you the idea that you could even try that on me?  You can’t touch me,” Chanur boasted: “I’m an endangered species!”

“Peta learned of our plans and pointed that fact out to us,” the head man in black continued, “Dr. Rivero, I’m afraid we’re going to need that money back.”

“What?”

“The reward was for a useful host and the hani clearly wasn’t.  And we know you’ve been writing about these events and posting it willy-nilly all over the Internet when you clearly knew it was supposed to stay top secret.”

RD laughed maniacally- lightning flashed and thunder crashed in the distance.

“Another evil plan down the tubes with your hair,” Peachyra mocked- the hani stuck out his tongue- “when will you learn that evil doesn’t pay.”

“We’ll see about that, my dear,” RD opened another can- the spray of Dr. Pepper flew into Dave’s eyes- “this fic ain’t done yet.”

Dave rubbed out the bubbly mess- he noticed one of the two agents behind Band Leader and squinted.  “I remember you,” he said, “you were one of my best customers.”

The undercover agent gulped, adjusted his collar and excused himself.

Chanur clung to Pamela- the pair melted into the crowd.

The remainder of the Ferocious Females stepped away from the scene, too, to catch up on the day’s events.  The tiger explained that Kam and Spark were still in the kitchen.  Peachyra was surprised the two had not been kicked out yet.

Zhyan begged:    “Couldn’t we keep the balloon double?  I mean, he doesn’t shed, he doesn’t need food or water, we don’t have to walk him or change his litter box,” she shook her head as he continued to plead.

RD sat at a small table and pulled out a checkbook.  “I forget exactly how much it-”

“One million dollars,” Band Leader answered.

“One million, eh?”  He waved the pen around the small box labeled ‘amount.’  “Doesn’t seem to be enough space-”

He grumbled:  “Use scientific notation, I assume you’re familiar with it.”

The Evil One smiled, taking it all in stride, measuring the man in black- who was, unfortunately, a little too big to stuff into his particle accelerator.  He signed the document vigorously and handed the legal not to the Federal representative.

Grune took a photograph of the transaction.

“Hmmm,” he folded the check and stuffed it into his inner-jacket pocket.  “You’re a disgrace to the nation, a disgrace to humanity,” he scowled- the insane lion growled- and he walked away, wide-eyed.

“Gee, thanks,” the madman stood.  “What a day, what a day,” he sighed.

“Oh, don’t fret, honey bunch,” Grune said, massaging RD’s back.  “We didn’t need all that money, anyway.”  He spun him around and kissed his cheek.  “You’re all I ever need,” he purred.

The cruel bastard petted his mane:  “You make me wish I was an eviler bad-guy.”

“Awww,” he sniffled, “that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

 

“Crazy!  Everything’s crazy!” a prim and proper British accent crackled from the intercom to Skat’s ears.  “Oh, the HUMANITY!”

“This is a disaster,” a second voice wailed in the background along with frenzied shouts and the frantic sounds of plates shattering and pottery smashing.

“I don’t understand,” the white tigress shook her head.  “What could have gone so wrong?  It’s just a kitchen-”

“Oh, Silvercat,” the Mexican grabbed hold of the PA system, “help us, please!  We need more power!  The food isn’t cooking-”

“The steaks- the steaks have come back to life!”

“It’s insane,” she bit her finger-claws.  She scuttled over to Tygra even as more cries of desperation called from the communicator.  “You heard them, they need more power!” she ordered the slimming, sweating red-tiger.  “Faster, damn it, faster!”

“I-” Silky Stripes panted, his tongue hanging limply from the side of his mouth, “can’t-” he struggled against his panting, “oh, oh!”

“You’re a Thundercat, damn it!  You have to go faster!  Snarf and Kam and Spark and I all need you, but especially me.  You don’t want to let-”

“AHHH!” Unable to stand anymore of it he decided to peddle faster- at least the sound of the wheels turning would drown out her voice- but-

The generator to the side began to rattle and overheat- the stand upon which the bike was mounted started to lurch forward-

Silvercat cracked the whip-

The dynamo blew a gasket and the ensuing explosion knocked the bike- and Tygra- loose-

“Hey!  Come back here!”

“Ahhh!” Tygra yelled.  He had developed so much momentum that he could not stop.  “Ahhh!” he crashed through and broke out of the dungeon.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She ran after him.

 

In the main hall of Cat’s Lair, the Thundercats and dignified- as well as undignified- guests had gathered around the foot of the grand staircase.  Standing silent and solemnly, they listened attentively to a man that was speaking below the soft glow of a hanging chandelier.  He had an unusual, Texan accent:

“I have endured a great deal of ridicule without much malice and I have received a great deal of kindness, not quite free from ridicule.  I am used to it.”

The audience roared with laughter that muffled the yelling and shouting that emanated from the back of the vaulted room- until an eerie silence befell the scene.

“Ahhh!” a long shriek echoed from the lips of a yet un-seen source.

“Get down!” Band Leader shouted.  At once a small troop of agents covered the man on the stairs with their bodies.  They peeled out of their shirt pockets tiny guns that expanded to activation.  “Everyone get down!”

A figure bolted through a set of double-hinged doors and crashed the party- it was Tygra on his exercise bicycle.  People ran away from it, left and right, bumping into the furniture or crashing into each other.  Pamela Anderson tried to get out of the way, but her bizarre style of walking kept that from happening.  Chanur unwrapped himself from her and fled to the side of the Ferocious Females and just in time, too, for the tiger plowed into her and sent her flying across room- she fell a series of blobs of silicone in the shape of ten, bowling pins.

The cake, that had been attached to the t-bar, was launched into the air and splattered on Liono.

The agents began to shoot- and everyone in the room got down, except for the balloon double, that had the oddest expression of fear on its face and the damned pair of RD and Grune, who laughed uncontrollably.  Bullets bounced off of the metal frame of the bike but enough made contact with the Thundercat to do damage.

“Wait, NO!”  Silvercat stormed in, right behind,  “That’s Tygra!”  But the men in black either would not or could not listen.  The din in the room- the shouting, screaming, laughing, wailing, laughing, the cries of fear and terror that came from Kam and Spark as they emerged from the kitchen, followed by sides of ribs and flanks of beef that crawled on the ground behind them- it was simply too loud.  Flailing her arms and dropping to her knees:  “You bastards, you’ve killed Tygra!”

The bicycle flipped over on its side and the hole-ridden tiger corpse scattered on the floor.

The party, the lair- the whole story- succumbed to a state of absolute chaos and insanity!

“Mwahahahaha!”  RD cackled and turned to Grune, who had taken snapshot after snapshot of that night’s highlight event:  “So, wasn’t that worth a million bucks?”

 

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