The Fifth Element Part 2
We might think now that all will be well, but alas it is not to be.
The Mondoshawan spaceship zips across the Federation's boundary, but unfortunately it isn't alone: Two black warships seem to be dogging it.
The Mondoshawans spot the spacecraft chasing them, and they hail what they believe to be a welcoming committee.
In the pursuing vessel, a Mangalore sits at the controls. His terrifying features tell us what sort of welcome the hapless Mondoshawans can expect. The pilot fires without warning, and in two shakes of a light saber, the Mondoshawan ship is no more.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
In Jared's apartment, a thermo-nuclear explosion fills the TV screen. Sadie is watching it with great interest. Jared's putting on his coat, about to leave the apartment. "Bye, sweetie. Don't watch it all day; it'll rot your mind."
Sadie barks a response, and Jared opens the door to find a huge gun, brandished by a nervous mugger, pointing right in his face.
"Gimme the cash, man!" says the felon.
"Been here long?" Jared is smirking as he studies the sweating man holding the enormous weapon. The man looks slightly confused.
"Don't fuck with me, man, or I'll blow you into tomorrow!" he growls. Unperturbed, Jared studies the mugger's fearsome weapon.
"Dude, isn't that a Z140? Alleviated titanium, neurocharged assault model?" he asks, beaming brightly, dimples quivering like knives.
The mugger, completely off balance now, can only mumble, "Uh…?"
"Don't you know you could hurt someone with this puppy?" Jared looks impressed, and then grins. "It's a good thing it's not loaded."
The mugger is lost. He looks at his weapon. "It's not?"
"Hell, no. You gotta push the little yellow button." Pointing, Jared indicates the button on the side of the gun, partially concealed by the mugger's sweaty grip. The man takes Jared's advice.
"Thanks," he says, shuffling from foot to foot. Jared merely grins wider as the thing slowly collapses in on itself, leaving behind a small metal tube that would only be good for hitting someone with.
"You're welcome." With lightning speed, Jared blasts the mugger with a straight right hand, sending him down for the count. He retrieves the gun. "You know these things are VERY illegal. You could get in a shit load of trouble. I'd better hang onto it for you."
As the mugger shakes his head in an attempt to clear it, Jared opens a drawer next to him which is full of similar guns. The mugger's eyes pop out of his head. He staggers to his feet and runs off.
Jared shrugs, leaves his apartment and closes the door. Sadie is still watching a nuclear holocaust on TV, uninterrupted. She seems to be unimpressed, but maybe she's seen it all before.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Jared's a wage slave, and the entire thought of that is less than thrilling to him. He's scowling as he enters his taxi. A robotic voice greets him.
"Please enter your license." Complying, Jared starts to push a series of buttons on the dash. "Welcome aboard Mr. Padalecki."
"How're you doing this morning? Sleep OK? I didn't." Indeed, he's got bags under his eyes, and he looks less than refreshed. He hits a button, and the garage door starts to open.
"Fuel level 6.03. Propulsion 2x4."
"I had the worst goddamn nightmare."
"You have five points left on your license," says the dispassionate voice. Jared doesn't take that well.
"Thanks for reminding me," he growls. As the garage door lifts, the Megalopolis that is New York City in the 23rd century comes into view. It's a horrifying cacophony of sound and light, startling in its height and breadth. Traffic zooms by on all sides, and 3D ads projected holographically serve to add to a tension that he and everyone else around him seems to feel without even realizing.
"Have a nice day," says the robotic voice, and Jared sniffs.
"Don't tell me what kind of day to have," he snarls as he lets the propulsion build. "I have other plans."
A moment later, he lets the clutch out, and his taxi rockets off into the maelstrom that is the city of New York.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Kripke collapses in a chair and gazes at Lindberg without really seeing him. "We are lost!" he laments.
Manners, who appears to have made it back to Earth without mishap, appears on the screen. "Mr. President, the attack was launched by two unregistered warships."
"Close all borders and declare a state of general alert," says the President. "And try to contact these Mondoshawans. We owe them an explanation."
"Lost," mumbles Kripke to himself. "What are we going to do?"
"This is government business now. You ought to go home and get some rest, Father." The President motions to his guards to come and get Kripke, and they begin to carry him out. "I promise to keep you informed." As a weary Kripke leaves the room with his assistant's help, the President turns to his screen. "Has the rescue team found any survivors?”
"Not exactly, sir," is the cryptic response.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
An arm on a surgical cart is being rushed down the hall of the Nucleological Center, that most sterile of environments. Professor Steve Carlson, mad scientist and intrepid gene juggler, hurries alongside the cart. General Manners is with him.
"This is all that survived?" asks Manners, attempting to poke the arm and having his hand slapped away by Carlson.
"Actually only one cell survived," murmurs Carlson, absently performing complicated equations in his head.
"Have you identified it?" Manners won't shut up, no matter how much Carlson wishes he would. He rolls his eyes, thinking that just a touch of fennel will totally change the flavor of that salmon steak sitting in his fridge awaiting his attention. Reluctantly, he pulls himself back to the here and now.
"It's not that easy, General," he protests. "We've never encountered anything like it before. You see, normal human beings have 40 DNA memo groups, which is more than enough for any species to perpetuate itself. This one has 200,000."
"Speak English, Doc," says Manners at his most patronizing. Carlson sighs.
“This cell is like a huge library. It has infinite genetic knowledge stored inside. It's almost like it was engineered."
"Sounds like a freak of nature to me," says Manners, dismissing the idea of a genetic construct without paying it any thought at all. Carlson rolls his eyes again.
“Yes. I can't wait to meet him," is his response as they pass into the lab and enter a cylindrical laboratory. There is a huge glass turbine in the center, and as Carlson directs, the arm is placed gently inside. On the viewscreen, a DNA chain appears, turning and twisting in the fashion approved by the Discovery Channel. Carlson studies it reverently and begins to muse.
"The compositional elements of his DNA chain are the same as ours. There are simply more of them, and they're very tightly packed. His knowledge is probably limitless." The very idea is exciting to Carlson. Not so to Manners.
"Is there any danger?" the General asks, apparently worried. "Some kind of virus for example."
Carlson laughed. "We put it through the cellular hygiene detector. The cell is, for lack of a better word, perfect."
Manners hesitates a moment, then he sighs and uses his personal key to unlock the self-destruct box. "OK, go ahead! But Mr. Perfect better be polite, otherwise I turn him into cat food."
Professor Carlson starts the operation rolling as Manners puts his hand on the sell-destruct button, ready to use it. Thousands of cells form in the heart of the generator, an assemblage of DNA elements. Then the cells move down a tube, like a fluid, and gather in an imprint of a human body. Step by step, bones are reconstructed, then the nervous and muscular systems. Whole veins wrap around the muscles. An entire body is reconstructing before their very eyes.
Professor Carlson is cackling with glee now. This is what he was born for - well, this and the special recipe for fettuccine that he invented in his last year at college - the one that's guaranteed to get a girl's panties off after only a couple of bites. "Three seconds to ultra-violet protection," he calls, and then a shield lowers down over the reconstructing body, rendering it invisible.
"This is the crucial phase," gurgles the professor, watching as fluid is pumped into the chamber and thinking that he could blend crème de menthe and Kahlua to produce a liquid that's similar in appearance, and that it just might make an awesome sauce for the chocolate ganache he intends to make once he gets home. "You're witnessing the reconstruction of pigment here," he says. "Cells are bombarded with slightly greasy solar atoms, which forces the body cells to react, to protect themselves. That means he'll be growing skin in there. Clever, eh?"
"Wonderful!" Manners curls his lip. This guy is as nutty as a fruitcake. He knows.
All too soon, the meter slows, drops to zero and Manners' fingers twitch on the self destruct button. Almost show-time.
As if he could hear Manners' thoughts, the lab technician calls out, "End of reconstruction, beginning reanimation right now."
There's a whoosh of air in the glass chamber. Manners keeps his hand on the self-destruct button as if ready to destroy this being that has barely been reborn.
Carlson, however, is not deterred. He's doing a masterly impression of Baron Victor Frankenstein. "Activate life support system," he cackles. And an electrical discharge fills the glass chamber, causing the body inside to jerk. After a few moments of silence, the sound of a heart beating fills the room, via the loudspeaker.
"Life support system activated, master," murmurs the technician, and the professor threatens to impale him with a pipette.
"Just do the work and forget the Igor shit, okay, Manns?" he growls. Seconds later, all is forgotten, because the Supreme Being is alive once again. "Remove the shield," he calls.
Manns automatically removes the ultra-violet shield which slowly reveals the perfect being. He's nude, young and very beautiful. Manners just stands there gaping. Carlson glances at Manners and gently pushes his hand away from the self-destruct button.
"I told you! Perfect! Doesn't that make you feel like singing?" He's humming something about a piñata under his breath as Manners goes over to stare into the glass chamber at the creature that's been revealed.
Manners appears to be hypnotized by the being's beauty. "I'd, uh, like to get a few pictures for the archives before he wakes up," he says, eying the young man's package with an expression like that of a tiger gazing on a baby antelope.
Carlson looks at him with a grin. A remote-control camera approaches the being's face, and a flash goes off. Blinded by the flash, the young man jumps and screams. He cowers in a corner, shaking from the cold, darting eyes everywhere, looking for the case of stones he was holding before the Mangalores pureed him.
"Ouacra cocha o dayodomo binay. Ouacra mo cocha ferji akba ligounai makta keratapla. Tokemata, tokemata! Seno santonoi-aypa! Minoi ay Cheba! Givomana seno!" His voice is deep and musical, and his eyes are wide and green, dark with panic.
"What's he saying?" Manners is frowning now. "Is he talking backwards?"
Professor Carlson stops singing long enough to clap Manns on the shoulder. "Activate the phonic detector," he says as the two of them watch the newly created being repeatedly kicking at the glass window of the reanimation chamber. "And better give him a light sedative." Carlson glances at Manners again, shudders at the naked lust in his eyes and adds, "Better give him something to wear, too!"
Manns hits a button, and the machine hums, whirrs and snakes a set of spandex straps around the being's hips, covering his modesty but leaving little to the imagination. Manners stops licking the glass window long enough to cast a disgruntled look at the two scientists.
"This thing solid?" he asks them, and they both nod.
"An elephant couldn't crack it," says Carlson, smirking.
Inside the chamber, the supreme being is babbling angrily, his handsome face a mask of fury as Manners smiles, safely ensconced behind his plate glass window. "You're gonna have to learn to communicate better than that, angel, if you want out," he tells the man behind the glass, and dangles the key in front of him, taunting him. The first inkling that all is not as it should be comes when the captive punches his fist right through the window. He grabs the key and yanks it, and the chain snaps. Manners is seized and slammed into the window with a crunch, where he slumps to the ground as he loses consciousness.
There's a brief lull as the being puts his hand through the window again, unlocks the chamber and steps out. He is still bit wobbly on his legs. Two guards try to grab him, but he sends them flying across the room, muscles sliding beneath tender, freckled skin as he moves.
Carlson and Manns seem most impressed, and give the being a brief round of applause before setting off the alarm.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
The supreme being runs through a maze of corridors, searching wildly for a way out. A squad of security guards appears in front of him and open fire without warning. The man takes a leap, grabs an air vent, kicks it out and dives into the shaft it conceals. The guards try and follow him into the vent, but none of them can quite reach it.
Meanwhile, the being is moving along inside the shaft, unable to see what's ahead of him. He comes to a dead end which contains a grille set into the wall. It leads outside, and it's evident that the fugitive is desperate to get out. He tears the grille from its place and throws it out into the void beyond. A moment later he steps onto the thin ledge that runs around the building.
So desperate to make his escape was he, that he had no idea that this would turn out to be a ledge on the 450th floor of a building, right in the middle of Manhattan. The city is monstrous. Buildings rise 600 stories. Cars fly. Subways run vertically. All around is chaos, and the supreme being is suddenly still, unsure how to proceed. He edges along the narrow ledge, unfazed by the height, but scared by the sheer scope of the hubbub going on all around him.
Carlson leans out of the vent, looking out into the void in his effort to find where his patient might be hiding. Behind him, cops are trying to see too. One of them fires at the man on the ledge, and he turns, ducking around the corner of the building. Unfortunately the other side is full of cops as well. A flying police car zooms up in front of him and hovers there, sirens blaring.
The being opens green eyes wide, shocky, still clouded with panic as an amplified voice shakes the building behind him.
"This is the police. We are processing your identification. Please put up your hands and follow our instructions!"
Feeling trapped, the supreme being looks down into the endless depth below. He takes in the cacophony and chaos, all the cars flying beneath him. He seems to come to a decision. Raising his arms in a gesture that is infinitely regretful and impossibly graceful, he dives
off his ledge.
He falls for what seems like forever, and it's pure blind chance that brings a particular cab to that place at just that moment. He hits the roof of Jared's cab and smashes through it.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Jared isn't quite sure what the hell has happened, and doesn't have time to do anything but try to control his car as it bucks and swerves, reeling from the impact.
From the console in the cab comes the robotic voice he just loves to hear, saying words he believes will be etched onto his gravestone when he passes. "You have just had an accident. Four points have been temporarily removed from your license." Jared curses as he finally manages to stop his cab and pull it over, out of the stream of traffic. "You have one point left on your license. Have a good day."
Sighing, defeated, Jared turns to look in the back seat to see what the damage is. The young man, somewhat dazed - and who wouldn't be? - emerges from the debris and sits up. There's blood on his face, but otherwise he seems to be perfectly fine, and he's so stunningly beautiful that Jared's heart heads for a meltdown right then and there.
Widely spaced green eyes, high cheekbones and a tender, voluptuous mouth are the things he notices first. There's breadth in the shoulders too, and muscles that slide beneath the glowing skin. He doesn't seem to have shaved for a day, and a dark stubble stains his face, saving him from appearing feminine. The man's skin is pale, almost translucent, and there's a light dusting of freckles across his nose, scattering down over his cheekbones, his shoulders, lower. Jared gasps.
"Akina delutan, nou-shan." The voice is deep and musical. The words are gibberish.
"'Scuse me?" Jared feels as if he's just seen the face of God. He's about to propose a little silent communication on an entirely angelic plane, designed to consolidate relations between heaven and the hell that is his day to day existence, when a police car with wailing sirens halts in front of his cab and a loudspeaker ruins a perfectly good epiphany.
"You have an unauthorized passenger in your vehicle. We are going to arrest him. Please leave your hands on the wheel. Thank you for your cooperation."
"Sorry, gorgeous, but I only got one point left on my license and I gotta get to the garage!"
The police car slides up to the cab. Doors open with a hiss. Huge guns point at the apparently defenseless man in the back of the cab. Jared feels lousy. The man's helpless, there are tears in his eyes, and he looks exhausted.
Glancing back at him in the rear view mirror, Jared sees that he's looking all around for something to help him communicate. He sees when the man's eyes light on the poster in the rear of the cab - the one aimed at getting the public to help out an orphanage. He knows what it looks like - it has a teary photo of a kid over the words 'Please Help.'
His uninvited passenger shoots Jared a look of pure distress. "Please... help..."
And there's absolutely no way that Jared can resist that. He makes his decision, and once his mind is made up, he loses no time. "Jeff's gonna kill me," he growls and shuts off the meter, flooring it and sideswiping the police car as he roars away. As he goes, the robotic voice pipes up, "One point has been removed…" Jared yanks out the wires, and then, finally goaded to the point of insanity, Jared whips out his gun and blasts the loudspeaker, stifling the voice and causing sparks to shoot from the console as he begins to put evasive tactics into practice.
"I hate when people cry. I got no defense," he mutters, mostly to himself. The police car sets out after him, sirens screeching, and an insane chase ensues.
The supreme being could not have chosen a better cab to crash into. Jared and his taxi are absolute masters of the air. The cops have trouble following him, but a second cop car comes to join in the fun. Jared drives like a man possessed. Nothing can stop him - nothing except the dead-end he suddenly finds himself facing.
"Daya deo dono Dato. Dalutan, dude." The being seems to be trying to help. He obviously hasn't read the memo that said men never ask for directions.
"If there's one thing I don't need advice on, it's how to drive," snaps Jared, turning the cab sideways and scraping through a narrow passageway that rips the light from the roof as they squeeze through. Behind them, one of the pursuing police cars smashes into the wall. The other one brakes, but only just in time, and backs off to look for a wider passageway.
The police car roars up, sirens screaming then slows down and checks out another dead-end. Jared's long gone from there, down at ground zero, hiding behind a pile of refuse and flanked by a gigantic, holographic billboard. At a loss, the police drive away.
Down below, Jared heaves a sigh of relief. "We'll just wait here till things quiet down a bit. You mind?"
The supreme being grabs his shirt collar and pulls him close, whispers in his ear.
"Priest," he mumbles.
"You're not that badly injured. Come on; we'll get you to a doctor," murmurs Jared, trying not to display the arousal that his passenger's proximity is stirring up in him.
"E… ric… Krip… ke… Priest…"
"Eric Kripke?" Jared's frowning. As he looks for confirmation that he's got it correct, his passenger nods, and then faints. Jared is somewhat confused faced with so much mystery.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
The door opens to reveal Jared standing there with his unconscious passenger in his arms. "Excuse me," he murmurs. "I'm looking for a priest."
The man who opens the door looks tired, like he’s the one having the bad day. He snaps, "Weddings are one floor down. Congratulations." He closes the door in their faces.
Jared stares at the grey expanse of the door and sighs. He's starting to feel pissed off now, and he steps forward, puts his finger out and leans on the doorbell. When the door opens once more and Kripke looks out, it's a good thing he's still clutching the unconscious supreme being, otherwise Kripke's face would have been rearranged.
"He's not my sweetie, he's my fare. He's looking for this Eric Kripke, and according to the phone listings, this is where he lives." Jared shrugs, indicating the dead weight in his arms. "And he weighs a ton."
"I'm Eric Kripke, but I don't know who he is. Where did you find him?"
"I guess you could say he dropped in on me. I don't know who he is, but he does have a tattoo if that helps." He carries his burden into the apartment past the surprised looking Kripke, dumps the being onto the couch and raises one of his arms to show the tattoo that depicts three suns.
Kripke's jaw drops, and he seems to be completely overcome. "The fifth element," he says, and faints dead away. Jared looks around helplessly.
"Jeff's gonna kill me," he murmurs.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Jared sits Kripke in his chair and wakes him by slapping his face. He sits up with a start. "Who are you?" he stutters.
"I brought him, remember?" says Jared.
"Him?" Kripke shakes his head as if to clear it, and Jared begins to pace.
"Yeah! He dropped in on me. I mean on my cab. He was talking this… this bizarre language." He trails off as he sees Kripke suddenly realize who his visitor is.
"There's not a moment to lose! Wake him up, but be gentle about it! This man is mankind's most precious possession! He is… perfect!"
Kripke runs into the next room. Jared looks at the man on the couch, goes to slap him too, and then changes his mind. His beauty troubles Jared. He hesitates before gently caressing the pale cheek. His skin seems so soft, so fragile. "Perfect," he whispers. Bending, he gently kisses the man's cheek, but he doesn't respond. He looks around furtively, then kisses the full, soft lips. The supreme being's eyes snap open, and when Jared straightens up he discovers his own gun jammed under his chin.
"Eto ekto gamat!" growls the being, and Jared raises his hands, trying to look small and unthreatening.
"I'm sorry, it's just that I was told to wake you up gently, so I figured…" He slowly comes to a stop as a pair of wide green eyes studies him, apparently puzzled. "You're right, I was wrong! I shouldn't have kissed you... especially since we haven't been introduced." He pulls out a business card and offers it. "Here, it's a bit late, but my name is Jared. Jared Padalecki. Keep it, you never know; maybe you'll need a cab one day. I'd say drop in any time, but considering what happened today I should just tell you that I'll be happy to open the door for you next time!"
The being hesitates, and then snatches the card like a wild animal.
"What's your name?" Jared needs to know. He needs this beautiful creature to like him, need him, love him. The creature himself studies Jared for a moment longer and then decides apparently that he's safe.
"Jensen Minai Lekarariba-Laminai-Tchai Ekbat De Sebat," he says. "Dude."
"Hey, that's cute." Jared frowned. He got about one syllable out of every five. "Do you have a nickname? Something a little shorter?"
"Jensen." Jared repeats it under his breath. He can feel himself falling for this unexpected visitor. "That's really cute," he mumbles as Kripke bursts back into the room.
Jensen turns the gun on him, and Kripke bows. "Appipulai Jensen Minai," he says.
"Kripke?" There's wonder in Jensen's voice, and Kripke bows again.
"At your service."
Jensen lowers the gun and starts to laugh. Neither of the others can resist joining in. Kripke suddenly notices Jared and begins to lead him toward the door, hustling him out. "Thank you so much for your help, Mr...?"
"Padalecki. Jared Padalecki." Kripke takes his arm as he's speaking, and Jensen loses his smile when he sees that Jared is leaving. "I might call to check up on him, you know, to see if he's better?"
"He's fine, really." Kripke stuffs Jared through the door as he's speaking. "Don't you worry. He just needs some rest. He's had a very long trip."
"I know. I was there when he arrived," murmurs Jared. Kripke is about to close the door when Jared's hand blocks it. "Excuse me! Just one thing! He said something to me a while ago and I don't really get it. Ekto gamat? What's that?"
"It means 'never without my permission'," says Kripke, stepping back as Jared drops his hand.
"Yeah, that's pretty much what I thought." He's still musing as Kripke slams the door in his face.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Jared heads down the hallway towards his apartment, passing his neighbor as he goes. He smiles. "Evening…"
"Fuck you!" responds the neighbor, and Jared shrugs.
"Thanks. You, too." He pulls open the door to his apartment and Sadie trots over to greet him, wagging her tail as if attempting to shake it off.
"Oh God." Jared stops for a moment, eyes closed as he slaps his forehead. "I forgot your food. I'm really sorry! How about Thai to apologize? How does that sound, huh?" Sadie barks her agreement just as the phone rings.
"Hello?" Jared's thumbing through his PDA as he answers. It's Jeff on the line.
"Hey, Jay, I've been waiting all day here." He sounds a little cranky, and Jared winces.
"Jeff, my man, I'm sorry. Listen. I was on the way over but I had a
fare fall into my lap." He grins at the memory. "Y'know one of those big fares you just can't resist?"
"So, just how big was this fare?" asks Jeff, suspicion coloring his tone. Jared smiles wider.
“6'1", big green eyes, long legs, great skin, perfect." He pulls out a cigarette.
"Uh huh. That's tall. Sounds like a model. I don't suppose you got the name of this perfect fare?" Jeff's smiling now. You can hear it in his voice.
"Jensen," murmurs Jared, dreamily.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Back in Kripke's apartment, Jensen has a towel wrapped around his hips, because he's newly out of the shower. He sits in front of a computer wolfing down chicken as fast as he can. Data scrolls by on the screen. Kripke's acolyte and constant shadow, Gabriel, watches from the corner, in awe.
"What's he doing?" he asks, awed by the apparent voracity of the perfect being.
"Learning our history," replies Kripke. "He missed the last 5000 years. He needs to catch up. He's been out of circulation a while, you know."
"Uh, father?" Gabriel is frowning, obviously worried as he tries to phrase his question. "I know he's been through a lot, but the sacred stones…? We don't have much time."
"Yes. Of course." Kripke ponders as Jensen wanders over to the microwave and removes a platter heaped with a whole chicken and exotic vegetables. "Jensen, I'm sorry to interrupt you but…"
Jensen sits back down in front of the vidscreen and begins to devour the second platter of chicken. Kripke sits opposite him and attempts to break into his concentration. "Ummm… I'm sorry to interrupt you, but time is short. The case - the one that held the stones - where is it?"
"San Agamat chay bet... envolet!" Jensen's voice is slightly slurred, speaking as he is around a mouthful of chicken, but Kripke falls back anyway, horrified.
"Stolen?" asks Kripke, faintly. Jensen nods his head, apparently quite unperturbed and continues to devour the food in front of him.
"Who in God's name would do such a thing?"
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Jim Beaver limps down a corridor that's tastefully painted and decorated with priceless works of art. He's pursued by a thin blonde carrying a stack of papers. "Excuse me sir, the council is worried about the economy heating up. They wondered if it would be possible to fire five hundred thousand?"
They reach a door at the end of the corridor. The Beav, as he thinks of himself, enters a code, then turns to study her. "Fire a million," he growls, turning to enter his office.
The blonde looks a little guilty. "But five hundred thousand is all they need, sir," she says. The Beav turns slowly back to face her. There's a scar running across his face, and his eye is twitching. She blanches.
"A million! Fine, sir," she says faintly. " Sorry to have disturbed you."
"Thank you, Katie. That will be all," murmurs the Beav, and enters his office.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Gabriel staggers into Kripke's living room, bearing a bundle of clothes and pauses. Kripke is speaking. "There was this guy with a limp who came round about a month ago. He said he was an art dealer, and he was asking all these questions about the Sacred Stones. At the time I didn't think anything of it. What was his name? I'm so bad with names." He pauses, evidently searching his memory. Gabe takes the opportunity to step forward and smile at Jensen.
"I didn't know your size," he says, holding out the bundle of clothing. Jensen purses his lips. The towel falls to the floor as he starts to examine Gabe's offering, and both priests turn away, somewhat hot under the collar as Jensen begins to try stuff on.
"They really made him…" Gabe's voice falters.
"Perfect," nods Kripke as Jensen finishes dressing, apparently delighted with his new look - tight pants and a slashed orange wife-beater.
"Domo danko!" he murmurs to Gabe, and the young priest smiles, completely dumbstruck with admiration. Kripke reaches to lay a hand on Jensen's arm.
"Jensen? The Stones? We must get them back."
Jensen nods, all business now, and settles down to sit back at the computer, turning it on.
"Ikset-kiba. Me imanetaba oum dalat!" he announces.
"You know exactly where they are?" says Kripke. "You don't know how happy that makes me.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
In a large warehouse containing several guarded crates, a group of handsome warriors approaches, their leader holding the sacred case in his hands. The metal handle is missing but the second metal glove is still grasping the case.
The Beav rises from the box on which he's been sitting and studies the band. "Welling? Is that you?"
The leader of the little band nods, and a disgusted look stamps the Beav's features. "What an ugly face! Doesn't suit you at all! Take it off," he growls, and Welling's pretty face burns away revealing the head of a monstrous Mangalore. "That's better," announces the Beav. "Never be ashamed of who you are. You're warriors. Be proud." Welling says nothing, but if his eyes could speak… "So what," continues the Beav. "If the Federal Army did crush your entire race and scatter your people to the wind. Your time for revenge is at hand. Voila, the ZF1." He takes out a weapon from one of the crates and goes into a sales pitch. "It's light, the handle's adjustable for easy carrying, good for righties and lefties."
He gestures, and the long suffering Katie rushes in to set up a mannequin rigged with various defense mechanisms at the far end of the warehouse.
The Beav continues pointing out the weapon's qualities. "It breaks down into four parts, undetectable by X-rays. It's the ideal weapon for quick, discreet interventions." He smirks. "Oh, and a word on fire power: Titanium recharger, 3000 round clip with bursts of 3 to 300. With the replay button, another Beav innovation, it's even easier. One shot…" He fires at the mannequin. "And replay sends every following shot to the same location." As he speaks, he spins around, still firing. Everyone ducks madly to avoid the shots ,but somehow the rounds all curve around to hit the mannequin.
"I recharge, but the enemy has launched a cowardly sneak attack from behind." An evil smile illuminates his bearded face. "The automirror takes care of that. Gives me the time to turn around and finish the job with 300 round bursts." He sets down the weapon, lifts his cap for a moment and scratches his head, then reassumes it, enumerating the rest of the features and demonstrating them as he goes. "Then there are the Beav oldies. Rocket launcher, the always efficient flame thrower -my favorite - our famous net launcher, the arrow launcher, with exploding or poisonous gas heads - very practical, and for the grand finale, the all-new ice-cube system!"
By this time, the mannequin has been blasted into a pile of ashes, covered by a net, stuck with arrows, and the whole mess frozen solid. The Beav tosses the weapon into Welling's hands. "There you go. Four full crates, delivered right on time! What about you, my dear Welling? Did you bring me what I asked you for?"
Welling steps forward and proudly sets the case on a crate. The Beav gloats while stroking the case. "Magnificent," he murmurs, smiles, takes a deep breath, opens it up.
It's empty…
Welling looks into the case, dumbfounded. Things are beginning to grow tense.
"All right," murmurs the Beav. "I've got an open mind here. Anyone care to explain?"
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Back at Kripke's place, Jensen is explaining what happened. Kripke translates for Gabe, who is still making cow eyes at the perfect being.
"He says that the Guardians never really had much faith in humans. They were afraid of being attacked, so the stones were given to someone they could trust, and that someone took another route. He's supposed to contact this person in a little less than twelve hours from now, at a specific hotel. He's looking for the address right now." A map of the stars flashes onto the screen, and Jensen points. Kripke and Gabe knock each other over in their haste to see where he's pointing.
"Planet Fhloston, in the Angel constellation," murmurs Gabe, and Kripke flops down into his armchair.
"We're saved," says Kripke."
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
"I'm fucked!" growls the Beav, closing up the empty case and giving Welling a blood-chilling stare.
"You asked for a case," says Welling, who really isn't very bright. "We brought you a case."
"A case with four stones in it." The Beav is well on his way to frothing at the mouth now. "Not one! Not two or three! But four! Four stones! What the fuck am I supposed to do with an EMPTY case?"
Welling's men shift uneasily, edging away towards the door as their leader tries to answer.
"We are warriors, not merchants," he growls, and the Beav smiles, not a nice smile. It appears to have rather more teeth in it than the average human has.
"But you can still count," says the Beav, gently. "Look, my fingers." He holds up four fingers. "Four stones, four crates. Zero stones…" his voice raises to an impossible degree. "ZERO CRATES," he yells. Turning to Katie he growls, "Get them to put everything back, we're leaving."
Welling's warriors seem displeased with that, and some of them turn their weapons on the Beav. After a moment during which Welling looks around for an escape and finds nothing, he steps up to the plate. "We risked our lives for this. I believe a little compensation is in order," he says.
"So, you're a merchant, after all," says the Beav, sharklike smile back on his face. "Leave them one crate. For the cause," he calls to Katie.
The Beav's men, harried by Katie, hustle out, leaving a single crate behind.
Outside, the Beav heads along the street towards his limo, while Katie carries the empty case.
"I don't like warriors!" says the Beav. "They're too narrow-minded, no subtlety. Worse, they fight for hopeless causes -for honor, can you believe that? Honor has killed millions of people but it hasn't saved a single one." He pauses, waiting as his chauffeur leaps to open the limo door. "You know what I do like though? I like killers, real, dyed-in-the-wool killers. Cold-blooded, clean, methodical, thorough. A killer, when he picked up the ZF1, would've immediately asked about the little red button on the bottom of the gun."
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Back inside the warehouse, the warriors have all picked up weapons. One of them inspects his ZF1. He turns it over and notices the little red button.
He presses it.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
As the Beav watches, an ear-shattering explosion renders the warehouse to its component atoms. The Beav chuckles and indicates that they should drive away. "Oh, I want to see that priest," he says to Katie as they drive away.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Jared is just finishing up a Thai meal, cooked by a Thai on his mini restaurant, anchored at the window. Sadie is eating beside him.
"So you forgive me?" he asks her. She barks agreeably just as a red light blinks, announcing the arrival of a message in a glass tube. Jared ignores it.
"Not going to open?" asks the little old Thai, smiling. Jared shrugs. "I've never gotten a message that wasn't bad news," he says.
"How someone strong like you scared from a message? Is good news I sure." The Thai is wiping down his counter as he speaks, and Jared shakes his head.
"The last two messages I got? The first one was from my wife telling me she was leaving. The second was from my lawyer telling me he was leaving too, with my wife."
"You right that is bad," says the Thai. "But, mathematically, luck must change. Grandfather say, 'It never rain every day.' This is good news, guaranteed. I bet you lunch!"
Jared hesitates, then gives the envelope to the Thai, who opens it with
a big smile that fades as reads the contents aloud.
"You're fired. Oh!"
Jared smiles at him. "Guess I won lunch at least."
"Good philosophy," says the Thai. "See good in bad. I like. I prepare number one dessert special for you and puppy."
Sadie barks in total agreement.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Jensen is also polishing off an immense dish of dessert as Gabe bangs away at the computer. "I got it! Everything here we need to know about Fhloston Paradise Hotel, and a detailed blueprint of the entire hotel!"
"Good work, my son," murmurs Kripke. "Now all we need is a way to get there." The doorbell rings as he's speaking. "I'll get it. Finish your work my son." Kripke opens the door to find Katie along with an armed escort.
"Father Kripke?" she asks, her voice sweet. "Mr. Beaver would like a word with you."
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Later, much later, the Beav turns to Kripke. "Beaver. James Acheron Gryphon Xerxes Beaver. Nice to see you again."
Kripke snaps his fingers as a light goes on in his head. "I remember you now. You're the so called art dealer," he murmurs.
"I'm glad you got your memory back, Father," smiles the Beav. "Because you're going to need it. Where are the stones?"
"Why on earth do the stones interest you?" Kripke is baffled.
"Personally," says the Beav, "They are of no interest to me; I'd rather sell weapons. But I have a customer, so tell me…"
"Even if I did know where the stones were, I would never tell somebody like you," splutters Kripke.
"Why? What's wrong with me?" asks the Beav.
Kripke splutters. "I'm a priest! I'm here to serve life. All you want to do is destroy it."
"Father, you are so wrong. Let me explain." Throwing his arm around Kripke's shoulders, the Beav leads the priest into his inner office. "Would you like a drink?"
"No, thank you." Kripke is attempting to keep his cool. The Beav leans forward earnestly as he begins to explain his way of thinking.
"Follow me. Life, which you so nobly serve, comes from destruction," he says. "Look at this empty glass." He pushes the glass with his finger. "Here it is - peaceful, serene, but if it's destroyed…" He shoves the glass off the table, so that it shatters on the floor. A crowd of small robots come zipping out from previously concealed cupboards to clean up the mess. "Look at all these little things, so busy all of a sudden. Notice how each one is useful. What a lovely ballet, so full of form and color. So full of life." He smirks.
"They're only robots," protests Kripke.
Katie comes into the room and pours water into another glass. The Beav tosses a cherry into it. "Yes, but by that simple gesture of destruction I gave work to at least fifty people today - the engineers, the technicians, the mechanics. Fifty people who will be able to feed their children so they can grow up big and strong. Children who will have children of their own, adding to the great cycle of life!"
Kripke continues to sit in silence.
"Father, by creating a little destruction, I am, in fact, encouraging life! So, in reality, you and I are in the same business," beams the Beav, looking as though he would take a bow with very little encouragement.
Kripke leans forward in turn, ready to burst the other man's bubble. "Destroying a glass is one thing. Killing people with the weapons you produce is quite another."
"Let me reassure you, Father." The Beav's smile is rather fixed as he draws a breath to rebut. "I will never kill more people in my entire life than religion has killed in the last two thousand years." He smiles, holds up the glass and takes a drink. He chokes on the cherry, and, unable to breathe, The Beav starts to panic.
"Where's the robot to pat your back?" asks Kripke, irony thick in his voice as the Beav falls, writhing, onto his desk, inadvertently hitting buttons which trigger a slew of little mechanisms. They pop out all over the desk. True chaos reigns. A cage appears, revealing a fat
multi-colored beastie who seems surprised to be out in daylight. He licks his half-dead master in thanks. Kripke gets up and walks around the desk as the Beav motions for help.
"Can I give you a hand?" Kripke whacks him on the back, and the cherry flies out of his mouth to hit the weird little alien between the eyes. The Beav regains control of himself at last as a phalanx of guards come running in. He fixes Kripke with a steely eyeball and growls, "You saved my life, so I'm going to spare yours." Turning to the guards, he snaps, "Throw him out!"
Stepping forward, the guards do as they're bidden and seize hold of Kripke to forcibly eject him.
"Beaver, you're a monster," says Kripke, shocked.
The Beav beams at this unsought-for tribute. "I know," he says.
As the guards drag Kripke out of the office, he can hear the Beav saying, "Torture whoever you want, the President if you have to, but I want those Stones. You have an hour."
Katie gulps, salutes and hurries out of the office.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
The Ostroff hangs in space. Three warships are positioned in front of it. Communication satellites zoom in from all directions, drawn to it like a magnet, only to disappear into the creature's vast maw.
Han Solo watches it in horror. "It's gobbling up all the communication satellites in the galaxy," he says into his communicator.
Far away, President Lindberg stifles his urge to laugh, disguising it as a cough. "Why the hell is it eating up all those satellites like that?" he asks Professor Carlson, who is happily reading a recipe book and dreaming of coq au vin so tender that it falls off the bone.
"We're working on it, Mr. President. We're working on it."
"It should only choke on them," says Lindberg.
Manners enters the office, just as a cockroach crawls onto the desk.
There's a small antenna on its back. Down in a car outside, Katie sits. She's wearing earphones, so she can monitor the President's conversation with her bug.
"I managed to contact the Mondoshawan," says Manners. "They deplore the incident, but accept our apologies."
Lindberg seems relieved, but a thought occurs to him. "And the Stones? Did you find them in the wreckage?"
"They weren't aboard the ship." Manners shakes his head.
"What do you mean?" Lindberg is all ears, as is Katie at her surveillance station.
"The Mondoshawan never fully trusted the human race; they felt we're too unpredictable, so they gave up the Stones to somebody they do trust." Manners smiles happily, glad to be the one with the information for a change. "Her name is Sandeelaguna. She's a Diva, and she's going to sing at the charity ball on Fhloston Paradise in a few hours. She apparently has the Stones with her."
The President breathes easier, and Katie is delighted. Lindberg takes off his shoe at that moment and uses it to crush the cockroach he's spotted on his desk. Katie's earphones fly off her head. Good-bye eardrums!
"I want your best man on this," says Lindberg, decisive as never before.
"Don't worry, Sir. I have the perfect man," says Manners.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
The most disgusting dessert ever made is currently hitting a plate near Jared. The ex-cabbie looks at it shimmying on a plate as the Thai serves it to him proudly.
"Stewed jellyfish cake - my specialty," smiles the chef, toothily. Jared forces a weak, polite smile as the Thai looks on expectantly. The phone rings.
"Saved by the bell," whispers Jared. He rises to get his cigarettes, and answer the phone as Sadie devours the dessert and licks the plate clean.
"Hello?" Jared listens, and then shudders as he hurriedly holds the phone away from his ear.
"You're the nastiest dirtbag I know in this stinking City," says a voice he knows all too well.
"Hi Ma," he says, resigned.
"I've been playing twice a week for 20 years. 20 years I've been eating those shitty croquettes…" Jared goes to light his cigarette. There are only two matches left in the match box. He strikes one and it fizzles.
"You wouldn't even eat one to help your poor mother, and you win the big prize? Know something? The whole thing makes me sick!"
The voice drones on, and the Thai starts to clean up, just as Jared goes to strike the second match.
"Are you listening to me, you ingrate?"
Jared sighs and puts the match back into the box again. "Yes ma'" he says. He enters his code on the keypad the Thai is holding. " Go on. This is gonna take a while!"
The Thai casts off, and Jared closes the window as the aerojunk sails off into the stream of traffic and is lost to view. Returning his attention to the phone, Jared tries to divert his mother.
"Other than that, ma, you okay?" he asks. She is not to be diverted.
"And now you're making fun of me? I'm warning you! If you don't take me after all these years of sacrifice, I'll never forgive you!"
"Ma, what're you talking about?" he asks, baffled, as he listens to her diatribe.
"I get it! You want to make me beg, is that it?" she says, the whine in her voice strong enough to level a man at ten paces. He's getting annoyed. It's been a shitty day, and he doesn't need this too.
"All I want is an explanation. I just got in, I lost my job. I smashed my cab up. I got mugged, but other than that everything's peachy, Ma, thanks for asking. Now settle down and explain to me calmly."
A message drops in his tube. The red light goes on.
"You just won a trip, you dolt!" says his mother. "Ten days in Fhloston Paradise for two."
"Ma, if I'd won, I'd know about it." Jared punches the wall, but stops when his hand drips blood. "Someone would have notified me."
"They've been blaring out your name on the radio for the last hour, blockhead!" is her response, and he eyeballs the message still in the tube. He's about to pick it up and read it, when the doorbell rings.
"Ma, it's the door. I'll call you back," he says hastily and hangs up before his mother can say anything else. He heads for the door. Before he gets there, it opens. General Manners enters, followed by a Captain and a Major. The Major is a woman, but all she needs to become a man is a mustache. Manners opens a file.
Major Padalecki, if our calculations are correct, you still have fifty-seven hours owed to the Federation Army on your enlistment, which is more than you will need for a mission of the utmost importance."
"What mission?" Jared is beginning to feel as if he never woke up this morning. Surreptitiously he pinches himself and then yelps as it hurts.
"To save the world," says Manners, gesturing grandly.
"Where have I heard this song before?" snarls Jared, beginning to get annoyed.
"You're to leave immediately for Fhloston Paradise. Retrieve four Stones from the Diva Sandeelaguna and bring them back with the utmost discretion possible. Any questions?"
"Just one," says Jared, bewildered. "Why me?"
"Three reasons," asserts Manners. "One - as a part of The Elite Special Forces Unit of the Federation Army, you are an expert in the use of all weapons and spacecraft needed for this mission." Manners pulls out a long list of documents. "Two - of all the members of your unit, you were the most highly decorated."
"And the third one?" asks Jared as the General pauses again.
"Uh, you're the only one left alive," says Manners, reaching for the message Jared hasn't bothered to look at. "Don't you open your messages?"
"I've had enough good news for today," snarls Jared.
Manners extracts the message from its tube, but doesn't bother to look at it as he delivers the contents. "You have won the annual Gemini contest and a trip to Fhloston Paradise for two. Congratulations. Here are your tickets."
He hands Jared the tickets, and Jared finally gets it. "You rigged the contest?"
Manners nods. " Major Gamble here will accompany you as your wife."
Jared casts a sidelong glance at the Major and his soul rebels. "You couldn't come up with something a little more appetizing?" he asks, depressed at the whole idea.
"Old tricks are the best, eh?" says Manners.
Jared's jaw sets. "I'm not going," he says.
"Why not?" Manners looks astonished, as if he can't believe anyone would turn down a treat like this.
"One reason," murmurs Jared. "I want to stay the only one left alive."
As Jared makes his decision, Jensen and Kripke are outside, searching for his apartment. Jensen carries the card Jared gave him. Kripke finds the apartment, and yanks the number off the door. He waves Jensen over as his hand goes to the bell.
Inside the apartment, the doorbell rings. "’Scuse me," murmurs Jared, pushing past the Major to go to the door. He looks through the peephole and spies the beautiful Jensen. He panics, overcome with happiness.
"Shit!"
"What is it?" Manners is frowning. Jared has about two seconds to make up something to get rid of him.
"It's my wife," announces Jared. Manners' frown deepens.
"I thought you were divorced," he says.
"I mean my future… uh, my ex… My future ex… If she sees you here, I'm finished. She hates you guys. It's what killed us in the first place. Please." He doesn't wait for an answer and bundles them into the fridge. "Sorry, General, but I've got no choice! It'll only take a minute! Let me set up another meeting, and I'll be back."
"Three of us will never fit in there," says Manners, but it's too late. Jared pushes hard, cramming him in with the other two.
"Oh, yes you will," he says, slamming the fridge door. The doorbell rings again. "Coming!" He whips through his place in ten seconds, gathers up things that are lying about, shuts drawers, rolls up his laundry in the folding bed. He brushes his hair back and opens the door with a big smile, only to discover a gun stuck between his eyes held by Kripke.
"Apipoulai," says Jensen, jauntily.
"I suppose that means hi." Jared's dispirited. This isn't turning out the way he wanted at all.
"I'm sorry to have to resort to such methods," says Kripke. "But we heard about your good luck on the radio and we need the tickets to Fhloston."
"Is this the usual way priests go on vacation?" snarks Jared.
The priest looks shocked that Jared should think such a thing of him. "We're not going on vacation. We're on a mission."
"What kind of mission?" asks Jared, fascinated.
"We have to save the world," announces Kripke, and beside him, Jensen nods approvingly.
"Good luck," murmurs Jared. This is something he's heard altogether too much of lately. He had no idea that the world was in such need of saving, but if Jensen thinks it's needed he's willing to give it the benefit of the doubt.
"Of course," beams Kripke.
"Father, I was in the Army for awhile and every time they told us we were on a mission to save the world, the only thing that changed was I lost a lot of friends. So thanks for the offer, but no thanks." He moves to close the door, and Kripke seems disappointed, while Jensen looks absolutely crestfallen.
Jared opens his mouth to justify himself. "I'm sorry," he begins, just as a voice is heard, amplified many times.
"This is a police control action…" Everyone freezes as the whole building resounds with the electronic feedback.
A group of police bursts into the hallway. One of the cops enters a
code on the police wall box, and a device descends from the ceiling, a
flashing light-siren. The voice fills the air.
"This is not an exercise. This is a police control."
Kripke starts to panic, and Jared takes charge.
"Oh my God, oh my God," yells the priest. Jared pushes a button sending the fridge to the next floor. A shower takes its place.
"Jensen, hide in here and don't move," says Jared. Without argument, Jensen hops in. Jared tosses Kripke onto the bed.
"What are you doing?" demands Kripke.
"Trying to save your ass so you can save the world," growls Jared, pushing a button on the wall. The bed disappears into the wall. Grabbing his tickets, Jared slides them into his belt. Meanwhile, the automatic police voice continues.
"Spread your legs and place your hands in the yellow circles, please."
A cop slaps a viewer device on Jared's door, which makes part of it transparent.
"Put your hands in the yellow circles, please," calls the cop. Jared takes his time, hiding his face. The Cop looks at his sheet. He's apparently looking for one Jared Padalecki. He has Jared's picture, but it is Jared with short hair and a beard.
"Sir?" calls the cop. "Are you a human?"
"No, I'm a meat popsicle," snaps Jared, rolling his eyes.
At the other end of the hall, another cop calls out, "I found him." Jared's calling card is clumsily stuck to the door of the neighbor's apartment. As the cop slaps his viewer onto Jared's unpleasant neighbor's door, he sees that the neighbor is at his sink shaving, instead of against the wall. The first cop arrives with Jared's picture.
"Sir, this is a police control. Please put your hands in the yellow circles."
The neighbor steps right up to the viewer, shaving cream on his face. He could pass for Jared.
"Fuck you!" he growls.
Jared still has his hands to the wall. "Wrong answer," he murmurs, sotto voce. Outside he can hear shots, followed by an explosion and a scuffle.
The riot police hustle down the hall dragging the neighbor behind them in a canvas bag. A cop is talking on the wall phone. "OK, we got the guy under wraps."
In the Beav's office, Katie is on the phone, facing her boss.
"It wasn't easy, but we bagged him. Thanks for the tip."
"Glad to help," smirks Katie, hanging up.
"They just arrested the Padalecki guy for Uranium smuggling. Everything's going as planned." She shows the Beav a plane ticket, and a passport with her picture and the name, Katie Padalecki. "All I have to do now is to go to the airport and take my place as his wife. I should be in Fhloston in less than four hours."
The Beav sits there quietly for a moment. Finally he looks up and speaks. "Don't come back without the Stones," he says.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Part Three