In response to the recent outpouring of enthusiasm for our literary project, (to say nothing of a couple of succinct and eloquent death threats), we have consented to continue with our saga.

As we begin Part 2, our minds are ablur with questions. Will Lucky regain his identity? Will he escape the clutches of the evil Alexander Lawless and his minions? Will Agents Redford and Maggart become more than just friends (and if they do, will we have to watch)?

---

Of Clowns and Beavers, Part II

---------------------

SCENE 1

The darkness swirled around him with dreams of grease paint faces and tattered canvas. Somewhere in the void of memory, a calliope played its discordant march, and grinning pachyderms took turns standing on his head as they twirled their great posteriors before silent and empty grandstands.

Suddenly the empty circus dream was populated with small laughing children; children with huge, dark unblinking eyes, children who reached out to touch him.

Lucky opened his eyes, and wondered at the scent impregnated into the grimy linoleum beneath his face.

-----------------------

Well, now, Agent Agnes Maggart, Id say we make a pretty good team.

Robert was feeling jubilant at the successful completion of their first covert mission, but his enthusiasm hid a nagging twinge of guilt. Agnes was more candid in her suspicions.

Yeah, but I dont know. I mean, who was that old guy, and what does Alex Lawless want with him? And whats with this place? Dont you think it a little strange that instead of taking him to a detention center, were told to dump him in a rotten old trailer out in a meadow. I mean, were a hundred miles from nowhere; how did Lawless know about this place, anyway?

Perhaps it was her preoccupation with the result of their strange assignment, or perhaps, the uneasy feeling she got from the lengthening shadows under the ancient trees along the bayou, but Agent Maggart failed to realize her speed, and the approaching curve in the crumbling single-lane road. Actually, she had been well trained in pursuit driving, and would have made the curve under control if it hadnt been for the red Mustang that was speeding around it from the other direction.

The more nimble sports car went into a power slide which kept its front tires in the lane as the rear ones dug black gravel from the ditch. The heavier, government issue Chevrolet sedan simply dove for the outside of its arc, and leapt through an old rickety wooden fence, before wrapping itself awkwardly around the girth of a huge and moss-draped live oak.

The oak had stood in its place since before men had come to roam the bayou country. It had sheltered the red men, who came to fish in the nearby dark and fertile water. Its rings had recorded the ending of their seasons, as they were replaced by men with paler skin, accompanied by those with skin of moonless nights. It had witnessed the plowing of the meadows, and mourned the felling of more manageable trees.

It now reigned over abandoned fields, given to wild dewberry and swamp lilac, to the aimless sulfur butterflies of summer, and the great white geese of northern winters. But once, it stood in a place of prominence to men. It was the meeting-tree for field hands gathered at noon-day meals, or a forbidden midnight rendezvous. Once, it marked the wagon trace into a great plantation.

A plantation become forgotten by the world of asphalt and steel, bypassed by all but the lost or the cast away. A plantation whose ruined and sagging walls continued to dutifully throw evening shadows over a small courtyard, in the center of which still stood a whimsical statue of a little white elephant, dancing in the imaginary waters of its long silent fountain.

------------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 23, 2000

Answers

This story, as with Part I, is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors imaginations or are used in a fictitious way. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Julie had been driving in pursuit of the kidnapped clown for only several minutes when she realized who she had glimpsed in the government car. She turned to Pat and said; "It was that woman from the clown museum, wasn't it!" Pat barked once. "Then that's where they are taking Lucky now!" Pat barked twice for 'no'. At that Julie pulled over to the side of the road and turned to look at Pat.

"If they aren't taking Lucky back to the museum, then do you know where we can find him?" Woof! The tingling sensation at her temples started and the images soon followed. Julie saw things that she didn't understand: an old circus trailer siting in a meadow by an ancient tree, and what looked like the remnants of a big old house with imposing gates in front, and last came an image of a statue - an elephant statue! As the images left her she shook her pretty head as if to clear it, then looked at Pat.

"Is Lucky in this place you just showed me?" Woof! "Then the question now is how do we get there. Are we far from him?" Woof, woof. "Can you give me directions Pat?" Woof! Julie giggled. Despite her concern for the clown, she knew that Pat could guide her to Lucky. "OK pooch, do I go straight, or turn back?" Pat growled and refused to bark. Julie giggled again. "Sorry, Pat. I guess I better ask each choice separately." Woof! "Do we turn back?" Woof, woof. "So we go straight?" Woof!

As Julie was pulling back onto the road, Alexander Lawless was boarding a special private jet. He smiled as the sun shone in a clear blue Colorado sky and the plane took off down the runway. Alexander wanted to handle the interrogation himself. In only a matter of hours, the Head of ADRO would find out what he needed to know about the 'machine' from the clown. Then the clown wouldn't matter to him anymore, and could be 'retired'...

permanently.

-- Rob Michaels (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), July 23, 2000.

Yippee!!!!!!!!!

Sitting on the edge of my seat and enjoying every second!

BTW, don't take those death threats too seriously, surely we're all to smart here to kill the golden geese??? ;-)

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), July 23, 2000.

Shoot fire, boy. Youre bleedin like a gol-durn stuck hog.

Actually, Agent Redford was not badly hurt, but as he was helped out of the wrecked auto by Elmo, blood streamed down his face from the one-inch cut on his scalp. Agnes Maggart sat very still and stared quizzically at the great oak, her hands tightly clutching the steering wheel. Her nose bled slightly, and her eyes were turning purplish, thanks to the now deflated airbag lying across her lap.

An hour later, both driver and passenger had recovered quite well as they sat under the venerable tree and were tended to by the old ranch couple, who assured them that they had seen worse injuries at west Texas church socials. It was Olive, who brought things into glaring perspective, as she stood in front of the little group lounging in the grass, and put her hands on her hips, which Elmo knew, always meant business.

Well, now it looks like the good Lord smiled down upon you two. I think you both are gonna be just fine. That is, unless Elmo has to use that tire iron on you.

This brought a startled look from the still-shaken Redford, but Agnes only looked darkly at the older woman, as she guessed what was coming next.

You see, whats botherin me is, just why is a lady from the circus museum driving like old Lucifer is after her down this particular road? And why is our friend missing, and what do the two have to do with each other?

As she talked, Olive reached into the open trunk of the twisted car, and brought out a large lug wrench and handed it to Elmo. She smiled sweetly, and patted his shoulder as if he were a derainged homocidal minion in some old horror film.

Now, my dear Elmo, here, is truly as blessed and gentle a man as our Maker ever set on this earth. But he does rile easy, so maybe you ought to start with your names, and who you work for, really.

-----------------

As Luckys eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he realized he was on the floor of what appeared to be a small old-style travel trailer. It had obviously been abandoned for many years, as his nose had made a little pattern in the dust on the stained and torn linoleum. The windows had been completely covered over by grime and vegetation, and the whole dilapidated contraption tilted on its two blown out tires and rusted suspension.

A small hole in the roof, where a fallen limb had gone through, sent a tiny spotlight of grimy illumination upon a weathered old poster hanging sadly on the front wall. It was a small advertising broadside, printed with an illustration of three large rings under an open, big-top circus tent.

Two of the large rings were filled with pictures of performing elephants and horses, with their scantly clad female handlers prominently featured. In the center ring were a collection of the gaudily attired circus troupe.

There was a ringmaster in double-breasted coat, muscular trapeze artists, lion tamers, a magnificent Godiva riding a white stallion, and an old and shabby clown, with orange wisps of hair and a large red rubber nose.

The little impromptu spotlight drifted across the poster, across the lions and horses and geeks, and paused on the sad face of the old clown. Quite surprisingly, a tear suddenly slid down Luckys cheek, as if called out by a soft memory of childhood.

As the dot of fading light continued its journey, Luckys eyes, being at floor level, caught the glint of good fortune, long forgotten and left by the trailers last occupant.

A small paring knife had once escaped its duties and hidden itself beneath the tiny couch, just within the reach of his bound hands.

--------------------

The two operatives of Alexander Lawlesss secret agency clung to each other in a desperate jumble of magnificent long legs and inflexibly stubby fingers as they glimpsed what they could from the rear seat of the red Mustang hurtling once again down the overgrown little road. It had only taken Olive a few questions to get the whole sordid story of their mission in the Louisiana backwaters.

Once in the rear seat of the little speedster, they had begun to volunteer their own doubts as to the legitimacy of their actions. Maybe it was a conscience not quite deadened by their clandestine training, or perhaps the acknowledgement of facing their mortality at every curve, but Agnes and Robert each felt a new allegiance. And a new determination to discover the truth about the old man who wandered out of the burro mountains, wearing nothing but his yellow longjohns.

When Olive screeched to a stop in front of the little circle of molding trailers, Elmo jumped out and Robert simply fell from the rear floorboard into the meadow grass and pointed at one standing somewhat aside from the others. The remnants of a threadbare canvas awning hung in tatters over its dark windows like a burial shroud, and the tiny curved door stood slightly ajar.

Before Elmo had even jerked the door open enough to see the freshly cut pieces of rope and the wadded up square of silver duct tape, he had noticed the footprints. Leading off across a corner of the grassy meadow, the marks disappeared in the gathering twilight, over a low and crumbling stone wall and heading towards a thicket of water elms and ancient cypress; towards the bayou where the old oak stood faithful watch over the forgotten trail to a ruined mansion and its courtyard fountain.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 25, 2000.

Shoot fire, boy. Youre bleedin like a gol-durn stuck hog.

Actually, Agent Redford was not badly hurt, but as he was helped out of the wrecked auto by Elmo, blood streamed down his face from the one-inch cut on his scalp. Agnes Maggart sat very still and stared quizzically at the great oak, her hands tightly clutching the steering wheel. Her nose bled slightly, and her eyes were turning purplish, thanks to the now deflated airbag lying across her lap.

An hour later, both driver and passenger had recovered quite well as they sat under the venerable tree and were tended to by the old ranch couple, who assured them that they had seen worse injuries at west Texas church socials. It was Olive, who brought things into glaring perspective, as she stood in front of the little group lounging in the grass, and put her hands on her hips, which Elmo knew, always meant business.

Well, now it looks like the good Lord smiled down upon you two. I think you both are gonna be just fine. That is, unless Elmo has to use that tire iron on you.

This brought a startled look from the still-shaken Redford, but Agnes only looked darkly at the older woman, as she guessed what was coming next.

You see, whats botherin me is, just why is a lady from the circus museum driving like old Lucifer is after her down this particular road? And why is our friend missing, and what do the two have to do with each other?

As she talked, Olive reached into the open trunk of the twisted car, and brought out a large lug wrench and handed it to Elmo. She smiled sweetly, and patted his shoulder as if he were a derainged homocidal minion in some old horror film.

Now, my dear Elmo, here, is truly as blessed and gentle a man as our Maker ever set on this earth. But he does rile easy, so maybe you ought to start with your names, and who you work for, really.

-----------------

As Luckys eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he realized he was on the floor of what appeared to be a small old-style travel trailer. It had obviously been abandoned for many years, as his nose had made a little pattern in the dust on the stained and torn linoleum. The windows had been completely covered over by grime and vegetation, and the whole dilapidated contraption tilted on its two blown out tires and rusted suspension.

A small hole in the roof, where a fallen limb had gone through, sent a tiny spotlight of grimy illumination upon a weathered old poster hanging sadly on the front wall. It was a small advertising broadside, printed with an illustration of three large rings under an open, big-top circus tent.

Two of the large rings were filled with pictures of performing elephants and horses, with their scantly clad female handlers prominently featured. In the center ring were a collection of the gaudily attired circus troupe.

There was a ringmaster in double-breasted coat, muscular trapeze artists, lion tamers, a magnificent Godiva riding a white stallion, and an old and shabby clown, with orange wisps of hair and a large red rubber nose.

The little impromptu spotlight drifted across the poster, across the lions and horses and geeks, and paused on the sad face of the old clown. Quite surprisingly, a tear suddenly slid down Luckys cheek, as if called out by a soft memory of childhood.

As the dot of fading light continued its journey, Luckys eyes, being at floor level, caught the glint of good fortune, long forgotten and left by the trailers last occupant.

A small paring knife had once escaped its duties and hidden itself beneath the tiny couch, just within the reach of his bound hands.

--------------------

The two operatives of Alexander Lawlesss secret agency clung to each other in a desperate jumble of magnificent long legs and inflexibly stubby fingers as they glimpsed what they could from the rear seat of the red Mustang hurtling once again down the overgrown little road. It had only taken Olive a few questions to get the whole sordid story of their mission in the Louisiana backwaters.

Once in the rear seat of the little speedster, they had begun to volunteer their own doubts as to the legitimacy of their actions. Maybe it was a conscience not quite deadened by their clandestine training, or perhaps the acknowledgement of facing their mortality at every curve, but Agnes and Robert each felt a new allegiance. And a new determination to discover the truth about the old man who wandered out of the burro mountains, wearing nothing but his yellow longjohns.

When Olive screeched to a stop in front of the little circle of molding trailers, Elmo jumped out and Robert simply fell from the rear floorboard into the meadow grass and pointed at one standing somewhat aside from the others. The remnants of a threadbare canvas awning hung in tatters over its dark windows like a burial shroud, and the tiny curved door stood slightly ajar.

Before Elmo had even jerked the door open enough to see the freshly cut pieces of rope and the wadded up square of silver duct tape, he had noticed the footprints. Leading off across a corner of the grassy meadow, the marks disappeared in the gathering twilight, over a low and crumbling stone wall and heading towards a thicket of water elms and ancient cypress; towards the bayou where the old oak stood faithful watch over the forgotten trail to a ruined mansion and its courtyard fountain.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 25, 2000.

Oh, COME ON now!

You don't really think I posted that last segment twice, do ya? I mean, how dumb would I have to be? Well, on second thought.........

(help, kritter!)

-------------------------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 25, 2000.

But, Lon, any great work of art is worth reading twice!! :-)

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), July 25, 2000.

ROB - (you might want to read your mail before you post the next scene.)

For the rest of youse- If you're wondering how Rob and I have kept this all kinda going in the same direction, well it has been greatly by ad-lib and accident. We have shared emails, roughing out a plot for a scene or two, but mostly just following our own lead. Part of the fun for us, and we hope for you, too, has been seeing what the other comes up with.

Now, as our separate tales start to mingle together, it should be interesting to see what develops, as we play with each other's character list and plot.

Oh, and we'll have another short break (gotta hit the road again), but hang in there, it's only intermission.

---------------------------------------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 25, 2000.

The private plane carrying Alexander Lawless landed at a small covert airstrip southwest of New Orleans. He stepped out quickly and strode with determination over to the waiting helicopter.

"Good Afternoon, Sir," said mystery man. Alexander smiled back at the chopper's pilot. "Let's get moving, mystery man." The pilot turned to the Head of ADRO and said; "The name is Brooks, Sir." Alexander nodded, already knowing full well who his 'mystery man' really was. The unmarked chopper departed into the darkening sky. Flight time to the meadow and the 'safe house', in this case an abandoned trailer, would only be fourteen minutes. Brooks did not make any more attempts at conversation as he concentrated on piloting Alexander towards their destination.

Julie was driving slowly, following Pat's directions seemingly into the 'middle of nowhere'. It was starting to get dark. She came to a dead end, frowned, and turned to the pooch: "Well, here we are Pat, surrounded by nothing but thickets and trees! Are you sure that Lucky is around here?" Woof! "Ok, let's go find him." Julie put a small flashlight in her pocketbook and got out of the car, walking around it to open Pat's door. The golden retriever immediately bolted out of the vehicle and started running down a barely visible track through the thickets. Julie followed.

"ETA is five minutes, Sir," said Brooks, breaking the tense silence. Alexander grunted in response. The Head of ADRO gazed straight ahead into a darkening sky. He couldn't wait to get that damn clown. He flexed his fingers.

After only a minute or so they both stood at the edge of a large meadow. Julie gasped. This was the place Pat had 'shown' her before in the images! In the distance and to the left was an old ruined mansion that was already being shrouded in the lengthening shadows. Julie couldn't help thinking that in its day it must have been a fine plantation, and strangely, as she tried to picture how it had looked, the mansion almost seemed familiar. Her thoughts were suddenly broken by the distant sound of a plane - no, not a plane - it was the unmistakable sound of a helicopter - and it was getting closer and louder each passing second.

Pat had heard the sound first and immediately ran over to the ruins of the old plantation. Julie ran after the pup. It was still just light enough to see. Pat ran past some broken gates and then ducked out of view behind a large statue in a fountain area overgrown with weeds. Julie followed and was almost out of breath when she came to the spot where she last saw Pat. She went behind the fountain.

There was Pat by an almost life-size statue of an elephant. Someone was leaning down petting the pup gently. The person looked up to see her. Recognition dawned in both of their faces. "Lucky! We finally found you!"

WOOF!

-- Rob Michaels (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), July 25, 2000.

Hmmm, it's only been a few days, so why do I feel like I've been dangling for ages?

You're gonna get back to this *soon*, right???

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), July 29, 2000.

Dear and Loyal FLRian Princess: Yes, I think Lon will be back soon!

-- (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), July 29, 2000.

As Alexander Lawless strode rapidly down the New Orleans airport VIP concourse, he was met by a stylishly dressed young woman, in matching sleek red midi-skirt and blazer. Her flowing white blouse was accessorized with a royal blue scarf, spilling in casual precision down an understated bodice. The tightness of her skirt dictated that she had to almost trot, in miniature steps, to keep up with the taller man.

She breathlessly handed him a small stack of loose-leaf papers.

Mr. Lawless, heres the report you requested; the computer record-search on the Anasazi bird fetish emblem.

The Director of ADRO never broke stride as he snatched the papers and began scanning the pages. The young woman kept pace for the first two pages, but suddenly turned her right ankle and painfully landed in a sprawl of crimson silk, as her three-inch heeled pump skidded on the marble flooring of the exit corridor. A dozen feet farther down the walkway, Alexander stopped, and drawing his Monte Blanc fountain pen from an inner coat pocket as though it were a lethal weapon, he circled an entry on page three.

He turned smartly, in the military style he still affected, and faced the bruised and embarrassed young woman. As she struggled to rise to her hands and knees, he dropped the notated page on the floor by his feet.

This one. This is the one I want. TODAY.

He disappeared out the double doors to his waiting automobile and driver, leaving the glamorous underling to retrieve the rumpled report. As she crawled closer to the papers, she could see the circled entry:

-ROSWELL, NM (tracking # 118786)----1951----Artifact reportedly found by local citizen at crash site #RC493-----Medallion, with Amerindian fetish on metal-----black, stylized bird---displayed as curio in local cafe------category 6

--------------------------

Jimmy Moon never knew what hit him. He saw the two tourists waiting when he arrived to open the cafe, and heard them walking up behind him as he unlocked the door. But now he was sitting against the wall in the still-dark restaurant, and he didnt remember even coming in.

He rose, and instinctively hit the button to open the cash register drawer, and saw in one glance that it contained the $100.00 in change he always kept to start each day. It would be hours later, when a lady from Tuttles Corner, New Jersey, asked about the empty case, that he would notice the theft of his grandfathers flying saucer souvenir.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 30, 2000.

Yipppeeee!!!

Intermission is over... the story resumes :-D

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), July 30, 2000.

Yeah, you canukian slave driver!

(you know we wouldn't work this hard for anyone else)

:)

---------------------------------------------------------------------- ------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 30, 2000.

It's not really me you work so hard for, is it? I'll bet it's really my loud and repetitive appreciation... And I do love your stories!

I just guess that because that's why I write haiku for Brooke... she told me often and clearly enough that she *really liked* my haiku, so now I'll go out of my way to write it for her.

So.... I *really* do like your stories... :-)

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), July 30, 2000.

Well, now, all you readers out there in FRLville, that's what is known in literary circles as a plot boo-boo.

Of course, you knew all along that Alexander Lawless was briefly in the New Orleans airport BEFORE Rob had him on the private plane to the OTHER airstrip, where he got on the helo, bound for the meadow. Yeah, that's it. Just wanted to make sure you were all still on the same page with me. (I never would have made a mistake like this, if Trish hadn't been pushing me so hard)

---------------------------------------------------------------------- -------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 30, 2000.

The helicopter was coming down for a landing by the trailer in the meadow, as Lucky and Julie shared that special moment of happiness and recognition. Instinctively they knew that they were in danger and had to get away - get away to safety - but where? Julie looked at Lucky like a long-lost friend. "We have to get out of here. I have a car not far away." She nodded her head towards where she had come from and said; "It's over that way."

Pat barked twice and Julie gave the pooch a puzzled look. Then Pat broke away from the clown's friendly petting, ran over to the side of the ruined mansion, stopped to look back, and wagged its tail. Lucky looked quizzically at Julie, who turned to the clown and said; "I think Pat wants us to follow!" Pat heard the remark and barked once. "Yep, that's what the pooch wants - let's go Lucky." The clown looked confused as they hurried after the puppy. He looked at Julie and said; "Holy Mother's bunions, but there's something mighty special 'bout that doggie!"

They approached the spot where the golden retriever was standing, only to see Pat rush ahead again - this time towards the back of the mansion. The dog turned towards them once again, waiting. By now they had the idea. - they followed. The back yard of the mansion may have been beautiful long ago, but now it was nothing more than a large area long overgrown with thickets, stubby trees and weeds, except for a low concrete outbuilding several hundred yards away that was itself partially covered with clinging plants. Pat hurried off directly to the outbuilding and stood in front of it, tail wagging, as Julie and Lucky ran over.

The sound of the helicopter was different now, Julie thought to herself. Evidently it had landed. Pursuit may be only minutes away! Instinctively she and Lucky knew that they had to find a hiding place - soon. By now it was almost completely dark. That would be of some help, Lucky thought. They caught up to Pat and looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: Ok, Pat - here we are - now what?

It was clear that Pat wanted them to try and get into the building - a squat, square structure. What safety it afforded only Pat seemed to guess at. It was too late to go back to the car, Julie thought. They were committed. Here is where they would hide if they could get in. Lucky stood and looked pensively at the building, as if he were trying to remember something. "It's some kinda crypt!" he said aloud, as he went over for a closer look.

Lucky examined the front of the building for a door. Nothing. He and Julie walked around the side. Still nothing. Then he looked down to see Pat passing by him - going away towards the back of the crypt. He followed, and was already peering at something in the darkness as Julie joined them. "There's something here, right enough, but it ain't no door. Fact is, there ain't no door anywhere so far as I can see," said the clown.

Then his eye caught something. Lucky ran his hand carefully over a small depression that was in the center of the back outside wall of the building. Julie came closer and examined it too. Neither could make anything out of it, except that it was the only thing on the outside of this building that wasn't just part of its flat walls or a plant!

She decided to risk a little light and pulled out her small flashlight, shining it directly on the depression. It was about the size of a half-dollar and it was round. Also, it had odd little marks on it. Julie thought they looked familiar somehow. It was then that her temples felt the now-familiar tingling and an image came to her mind. Pat was showing her something that was also round and of similar size. Then she saw it more clearly and knew what it was.

She bent down to get the medallion from Pat's collar, took it off, and inserted it into the depression in the wall. It fit just like a key as she pressed it into place. But nothing 'opened'. Instead, a moment later, the back wall of the building simply 'vanished' and they stepped into what looked like a large room made entirely of some shiny metal.

Julie and Lucky turned their heads to see what had happened to the outside wall that they just 'went through'. It was gone! Replaced by a metallic wall just like all of the others that made up this place! They could see no 'depression' or 'keyhole' anywhere. Nor had they any idea of how they had got inside, and now, after looking around, they saw no way of leaving!

They were stranded and scared, to say nothing of hungry, thirsty, and tired. But they were also hidden from their pursuers, and they were alive - at least for now. . .

-- Rob Michaels (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), July 30, 2000.

As Brooks piloted the helicopter towards the meadow, Alexander Lawless reached into his pocket and brought out the small metal disc. When he had gotten the report from Agent Maggart, showing the bird emblems and the accidental alignment of the old photographs by Lucky, he had quietly come to the bayou country below New Orleans to do some personal reconnaissance on the ruined plantation house named Maison du Jet Deau.

Following a hunch, he had ordered a search of the Agencys computer database for artifacts or illustrations bearing similar images to the stylized bird emblems used to line up the images on the four separate pages.

Now, he unknowingly possessed a medallion identical to the one on Pats collar, and had accurately guessed at its function. He had believed for several years that the mysterious pictures in the Eden Studio were actually plans for the operation of some alien machine, but he knew neither its location or purpose.

Turning the small disc over in his fingers, he had a certainty of premonition that he held the key. To both the machine, and to his future.

Landing in the tall grass of the meadow, the two men ducked under the still-spinning rotors and trotted to the forsaken little trailer, not realizing that they were being watched by four pairs of eyes, hidden just beyond the low stone fence. As Brooks held the door open, Alexander took in the empty interior and bits of rope, and ascertained the situation immediately.

Hes loose.

Neither man was given to unprofessional expletives, and their faces only registered the consternation of unforeseen complications. Turning rapidly in a circle, the secretive mystery man, and problem solver, Brooks, silently pointed out the trail of beaten grass leading into the thicket of berry vines and wild Chinese tallow trees. The Director followed his gaze, before he spoke again, his voice a strained whisper.

And it looks like hes headed to the old mansion. I had wanted to talk to him a little, but now hes becoming a problem.

He reached into his coat, and pulled out the metal disc and a 9mm Israeli-made automatic pistol.

A problem we can do without

------------

As Alexander broke free of the dewberry brambles, he stood alone in the clearing surrounding the old plantation house. A hundred yards back along their trail, Brooks had quietly tapped him on the shoulder, and disappeared into the drapery of an ancient weeping willow. Cautious by nature, and Special Forces by training, the mystery man had felt the tingle on the back of his neck which meant they were not alone.

When the two old West Texas ranchers and the silk stockinged girl giant had passed, he stepped back into the path behind them. He had gotten his favorite weapon from the helicopter, and as he leveled the short-barreled, pump 12 gauge shotgun at the three backs, he spoke in a terrifyingly calm voice just loud enough for them to hear,

And they said the circus didnt live here anymore.

--------------------

The Director of ADRO had always appreciated the effectiveness of a quiet touch. As he reached out and rested his hand on the shoulder of his wayward female agent, he looked truly grief-stricken.

Agnes, Agnes, I had such hopes for you. Have you forgotten just who you work for, and what I can make happen? And wheres that corpulent corporal of yours? Dont tell me hes lost in the woods; I should fear for his safety among the wild animals.

With this, he glanced at Brooks, who took his cue, and began easing back into the underbrush.

But now that youre all here, youre just in time for a little demonstration. In fact, you just might prove useful. In a guinea pig sort of way, that is.

It was then that he caught the movement in the corner of his eye. Swinging his weapon around, he brought it to bear on a running blur of golden fur. As he squeezed off a single shot, he realized not only that the animal was running into the bushes, but it was running FROM a squat and time-stained masonry building. As the dog collapsed in a motionless amber heap, he brought the gun once again to point at the hapless trio.

O.K. Kiddies, its show time, and I think Elvis is already in the building. Move.

--------------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 30, 2000.

The first thing they noticed was that Pat was gone. Evidently the pup didn't 'go through' the disintegrating wall with them. They clasped hands and stood still as they looked around. There was an odd bluish-white light surrounding them inside the 'room'. It was surprisingly bright and permeated the entire place, yet the light didn't seem to be 'coming' from any one source in particular. It was just there! Lucky and Julie looked around in wonder.

There was one big thing in the center of the 'room'. "What's that contraption?" asked Lucky. Julie shook her head and looked at it too. They had no idea what it could be! There was only one thing that Lucky and Julie knew with any certainty: it was some kind of a machine.

A machine unlike any other they had ever seen on Earth.

They went over to it cautiously - together, hands still clasped - and stood before it. It appeared to be made of the same metal that the rest of the room was made of. Also, it was big - so big that you couldn't see to the other side of the room unless you went around it. In fact, it was as they walked around it that they noticed several other shiny metallic things also resting here and there on the metallic floor.

Lucky put his hand to his forehead, almost as if he had a sudden pain. Julie looked concerned as she saw the clown take something from his pocket - some papers. Lucky unfolded the four wrinkled papers and put them down neatly on the floor, placing them together in a certain way - to make a pattern. "I've been walking 'round with these things all this time, and ever since I first got 'em, I knew they were somehow important. But it wasn't 'till now that I suspected what all these diagrams were. Now, somehow, I think I know. They have to do with this here contraption!" The two of them looked down again at the papers with the odd diagrams on them, and tried desperately to find the connection.

It was Lucky who realized it first. "Why, look at the papers when you turn them all upside down from the way we've been lookin' at 'em!" he said excitedly. Julie smiled for the first time in a long while as she saw what he meant immediately; where the patterns on the four pages merged there was a clear image of something that they never would have recognized before tonight, but did recognize now. It was the machine in the center of the room!

They each looked from the papers on the floor to the machine again. There was no doubt. They were one and the same. Then they looked at the other smaller patterns on the papers and saw that they also matched the other smaller metallic objects that were on the floor in the room. It finally was clear! All of these pieces fit together with the big machine in the center.

They went over to the machine and saw small notch holes in each of its seven sides. They examined each of the seven metallic objects on the floor in the room and started fitting the whole thing together. The metallic pieces weighed almost nothing, were almost aluminum-foil thin, and yet they were so strong that even Lucky couldn't bend them in the slightest way!

It only took a few minutes, once they realized what they were doing, to finish putting the whole machine together. As soon as the last piece was fitted and snapped in, a low hum came from inside it. They looked at each other with surprise! What happened next was even more astounding; two 'panels' on the machine appeared to separate from each other creating a doorway. The hum became noticably louder now.

They instinctively knew what they had to do. Once again, they clasped hands and walked cautiously forward together - this time going inside the machine's doorway, and into the unknown.

-- Rob Michaels (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), July 30, 2000.

Before leaving the meadow in search of the fugitive Lucky, Alexander Lawless had raided the first-aid kit in the helicopter, taking a small pen-type flashlight and a wide roll of cloth tape. He now held the light between his teeth while he taped together the wrists of his three captives. It was almost completely dark, and he didnt want to take any chances, so he also taped their ankles, one to one another, like some macabre three legged race.

The compulsive orderliness which ruled his every waking moment, caused him to align his prisoners according to height, so that Elmo found his left ankle bound to the right one of his wife, and his right taped to the left one belonging to the tall former agent. The stride difference of the two women made it quite awkward for them all to walk, but after a few false starts, they settled into a drunkenly syncopated rhythm like some huge comedic insect.

Alexander herded them slowly towards the low building where the golden dog had appeared. As they passed close to the sprawled body of the retriever, only Olive noticed the slight rise and fall of its chest.

The faded and crumbling building was situated in the center of an overgrown graveyard behind the ruins of the plantation house. It had a low, curved roof and neither window nor door, and looked to be constructed solely of very old concrete, or tabby in the local vernacular, such as was commonly made in this area, using sand and sea shells. A century of neglect showed in the water stains along its walls and the straggling vines which clung within the cracks of its once whitewashed surface. It was, in appearance, a typical family burial crypt in this low country where corpses were routinely interred above ground. Typical, that is, except for its large size, and its lack of any visible means of entry.

As Alexander surveyed each wall, moving front to back, he fingered the metal disc in his pocket, and searched for any marking or sign which might be a clue to its use. Moving his hobbled little group to the rear of the crypt, he noticed at once the beaten down grass at the center of back wall. Playing the small light up the wall from the area where Lucky and Julie had been standing just minutes before, he spotted the same depression that Pat had showed to them.

He grabbed Agnes and roughly shoved her and her attached accomplices forward, so that their noses almost touched the cold damp of the masonry wall. In fact, Elmo was struggling to suppress a mold induced sneeze when Alexander press

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 31, 2000.

...pressed the medallion into it's place.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 31, 2000.

Julie and Lucky turned together, looking behind them to see where they had just entered the machine. The doorway was gone - not even a seam was discernable! It was painfully obvious that they were here to stay. They exchanged nervous glances and began taking in their surroundings. The humming sound was still going strong. And there was a strange smell in the air. While both smelled it, neither could describe it as being like anything they had ever smelled before. The light was of the same bluish-white type that bathed the room, but it was much dimmer here inside the machine. They went further in.

It was readily apparent that the whole inside of the machine was completely unearthly. Virtually nothing was recognizable, except for two small rubbery looking seat-like 'cushion' things on the floor, and some kind of small panel with three dark squares that rested between the 'seats' just off the floor. The machine was really weird inside, almost defying description. There were many different-colored small dots of light dancing all around them. They felt as if they had stepped inside a kaleidoscope.

They sat down on the 'rubbery seats' and watched the light show going on around them. As soon as they were both seated, all three small dark squares on the panel began to glow with their own dim light. One was Red, one was Green, and the third was Blue. The two looked at each other, wondering if they dared to touch any of these strange squares. Lucky shrugged, while Julie wished Pat were here to help them.

Lucky reached tentatively for the Blue square - looking at Julie for approval. She nodded. He pressed on it gently. They both held their breath. The Blue light became intensely bright on the square of the panel. They looked around and realized that now they could see through the machine's walls to the outside room. The Blue square somehow made the machine's walls transparent in some way!

Julie looked questioningly at Lucky, who nodded in return. She reached down and pressed the Green square. Instantly, the hum grew very loud. There was also a buzzing sound now. The smell in the air also intensified. The little dots of light started zipping around inside the machine even faster.

Lucky noticed that something else had happened after Julie had pressed the Green square - one of the sides of the machine turned into some kind of unearthly 'display' with unrecognizable symbols flashing by. Wait a minute - there were numbers too! Recognizable numbers! Four digit sequences, they both realized. "Look at that!" gasped Lucky. Julie gazed at the display in astonishment. "What the heck is it?" she asked.

Lucky was just reaching down to press the Red square when he spotted something else through the transparent walls - movement outside of the machine - outside of the room itself! Julie saw it too. Somehow they were able to see what was happening out there!

It was Elmo and Olive, and the museum lady was with them too! They stood all together side by side in an awkward-looking way. And there was a stranger next to them - someone who they sensed was Trouble. Then they saw how tape was wound about the three people, but not the stranger. There was no sign of Pat.

Lucky suddenly knew for sure that his friends were in danger. Julie saw the same thing and came to the same conclusion. She couldn't help wondering once again where Pat was, and if the puppy was ok. But it was too late to help any of them now. For Lucky's finger had indeed gently pressed down on the final square - the Red one.

The last thing that either of them saw before blacking out on their journey in the alien machine was a large four-digit number frozen on the 'display':

The number was 1865.

-- Rob Michaels (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), July 31, 2000.

How 'bout that Lon... travelling with aliens *again*!

Still sitting at the edge of my seat ;-)

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), August 01, 2000.

"Where's Director Lawless?" Brooks demanded. Olive, Elmo, and Agnes turned to see Robert Redford stepping out of the shadows of the woods, a gun at his back, held menacingly by Brooks. Agnes cleared her throat and said; "Alexander is gone - gone for good probably - in there. He put some kind of 'medallion key' into that depression in the wall. Next thing we knew, the wall just - well - it just wasn't there anymore - and he stepped inside there still holding the key as the clown and young girl disappeared into thin air in some kind of machine! Then the wall was there again as solid as ever with Alexander still behind it." Brooks looked at the squat, concrete crypt with a mixture of disbelief and confused apprehension.

Olive shook her head in agreement. "Lord's my witness, it's true what Agnes said - all of it." Elmo also shook his head to affirm Agnes's account of the mysterious events. He looked at Robert, then looked back at Brooks and said: "Tarnation! Your boss is gone awright, so things ain't the same as when ya went off on your lil ol' hunt. Now we'd all be mighty pleased if ya would be so kind as to let that there gun point somewheres safe. It ain't youse aginst us, we's all in this together, sunny boy."

Officer Brooks had listened to Elmo carefully. The old rancher may look three days older than dirt, he thought, but the man had a point. Brooks knew when people were full of crap, but instinct told him these folks were telling the truth, as crazy as it was. It really was simple. Alexander, the clown, and the Girl were gone, and that changed everything. He was in charge now.

He looked back at Elmo, then turned to Robert and said; "OK Agent Redford, untie their wrists and ankles. It looks like we are going to need to have a nice long chat before I can decide what to do." Olive gave Elmo a look he had learned to love all of his long life - a look that said how much she loved him - more than any words could have said.

Just then, everyone heard a chorus of loud sounds overhead. All of them looked up to see a large flock of Geese wheeling and honking in the moonlight as they traveled towards the nearby meadow to settle down until dawn. Olive frowned. The Geese reminded her of something - something important - but what? She thought about it. Then she remembered - suddenly; "Oh! The puppy! Ya shot it! But I noticed the poor thing still had God's own loving Breath of Life in it when we went by it just 'fore. Ya gotta help it!" She looked pleadingly at Brooks, but wasn't expecting the answer that came from him.

Brooks lowered his gun to point safely down at the ground, and said softly, almost to himself; "I didn't mean to hit the pup actually, just scare it off. I knew the animal when it was a beaver, before the uh, the aliens changed it into a dog somehow." Agnes remembered back to when she and Brooks called Alex from his hotel room with that revelation, and gave Brooks an odd look - a look half of understanding and half of compassion.

Brooks realized he had said something that sounded foolish but couldn't help continuing to try and explain himself - "And I also remember seeing Julie and 'Pat the Golden Beaver' on television and in the newspapers, and I liked them both. I liked them a lot. They are from my hometown you know! In fact, when Alexander called me to get rid of them, well - I couldn't do it. I arranged for a local hunter to do the dirty work, but he messed up the job. It's a long story. Anyway, it was always the clown Alex wanted - so he could get the machine for himself. He never cared what happened to the girl and Pat, but I always did. Now the Girl and the clown and Julie are gone. Nothing is the same, and I have to think this all through."

Robert happily finished untying everyone's wrists and ankles and then walked over to where Pat was while Agnes and Olive and Elmo all exchanged glances as they listened to Officer Brooks confession. It seemed that maybe Brooks wasn't all that bad after all.

They all turned their heads when Robert excitedly called out for Brooks to come over and join him by Pat. The three of them followed Brooks quickly. Olive and Elmo held hands as if they were newlyweds, as they walked behind the long-legged Agnes who was following right behind Brooks.

What they all saw when they got there none would ever forget.

-- Rob Michaels (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), August 01, 2000.

In his dream, the little elephant statue stepped from its fountain and began to dance in a grassy meadow filled with yellow and lilac and pink wildflowers. The sky overhead was gaily striped canvas, fluttering in a summer breeze, and held aloft by huge tent poles of grey-leaved cypress.

As he followed the pirouetting pachyderm, he saw circus posters hovering above his head, imploring him to Ride In The Flying Machine, and Visit The Terrifying Mystery Crypt, and See The Amazing Man With No Face.

Ahead, the elephant had stopped dancing, and stood motionless under a great and spreading live oak. It suddenly transformed into a petite, rounded trailer of shining metal. He looked at the small curved door, and saw the reflection of garish grease-paint smile, orange wisps of hair, and large red rubber nose. He searched the reflected face for eyes, but two large raindrops landed and turned them into ripples of rainbow oil sheen on dark bayou waters.

As the grease paint began to melt and run from the dream reflection, he turned his face up into the warm rain.

Lucky! Lucky, wake up!

His eyes opened more in protest than in recognition, but he smiled at the worried look on Julies beautiful young face. She was gently patting his cheeks with soft hands, wet from the bottled water in her purse.

Well, hiya, Missy. Whats fer breakfast?

-----------------

The two new friends sat on the doorstep of the machine and tried to gather their senses. Julie told Lucky about the beaver who could send her mind-pictures, and how the government guys had wanted to find an old clown, and how Pat had been killed and then given back to her as the golden dog. She told him how Pat had showed her that Lucky was actually the old clown, and how the dog had led her to him just when the team of agents nabbed him at the library.

Lucky told her about wandering out of the desert, and finding Elmo and Olive, and their photograph from Eden studio, and how they had found the plans to the machine. How they didnt know what they were, but had followed them to the Maison du Jet Deau. He showed her how the old photos lined up one way to show the machine and another way to show the old plantation house. He unsnapped a breast pocket on his sky-blue western styled shirt, and dug out the small folded paper that Elmo had found in the back of the old photo of his grandfather. As he smoothed the yellowed paper to show her that it too, had an ink drawing of the old mansion, he noticed the reddish stain.

Oh, fer cryin out loud! I plum fergot about the key! Help me get this, will ya darlin?

He held up his left foot, motioning Julie to help him get the boot off. She first grabbed it by the toe, but realizing that would never work, she looked quizzically at the old man, who just grinned and turned her around. He then re-lifted his foot between her shapely legs, where she caught hold of the heel with both hands. He gingerly placed the other foot on her posterior and pushed. As the boot popped off with some effort and Julie lurched forward, the small key clattered onto the stone floor of the darkened room. Lucky waddle-limped over and picked it up.

This here key was wrapped up in the back of the old picture, too. Maybe it can get us outta here, ya think?

Julie set his empty boot inside the machine, and retrieved the small flashlight from her bag. As she shined the beam on the back wall where they had entered, they were surprised to see a small wooden chest bound with iron bands and fastened with an old hand-forged lock.

Look, Lucky. What is that? And how did we miss it; I mean we came right through that wall, didnt we?

We didnt miss it, darlin, it werent there when we came in. But it looks like we found the home fer this here key.

The lock clicked easily with the key, but Lucky had to kick it twice with his one still-booted foot, to get the hasp to open. Julie kneeled and raised the curved lid, and gasped. There in the glow of her flashlight were a jumble of gold coins and green gemstones. Lucky bent down and scooped up a handful to examine closer.

Well, put me in bloomers and call me Darlene, theys Spanish doubloons and emeralds!

Julie hesitantly picked up a jewel and thought to herself that it was almost the size and color of a large seedless grape. Her empty stomach, upon receiving the mental image, gave a sharp pang to remind her of the fact that she had not eaten in almost a full day. She glanced around the blank walls of their prison and turned a worried face up at her older companion.

Yeah, Lucky. But I almost wish it was full of Spanish omelettes and orange juice.

Lucky stuck his handful of treasure in his pocket and closed the lid on the chest, before helping Julie to her feet.

I know, sweetheart, I know. But I was just thinkin - give me that little dog tag of Pats. It got us in here, maybe itll get us out.

He took the medallion from Julies hand, and stepped up to the rear wall, where they had entered. Turning his head, and shielding his eyes with one hand, he forcefully held it to the shining metallic barrier, and almost fell through when the wall again disappeared.

Well, now, darlin, they dont call me Lucky, fer nuthin, ya know. Grab one end of this box, and lets go get us some eats!

They stepped out into the early morning sun of summer upon the bayou country. The air was scented with roses and lilac and the acrid smell of smoke from the smoldering timbers of a recently burned barn. As they reached the corner of the rear wall of the crypt, they saw the great plantation house.

At first glance it looked as if a Southern belle would glide out onto its wide portico at any moment to welcome her hungry visitors. But then they saw the curtains fluttering out through broken windows, the smashed picket fence , the overturned wagon and the three bodies lying on the front lawn.

Julie put a trembling hand to her mouth, and sagged as her knees weakened. Lucky helped her put down the trunk as he quickly surveyed the abandoned fields around the graveyard.

O K, little one, just sit here a minute. It looks like whoever done all this aint still hangin around, so youll be safe. Im just gonna go get my other boot, before we go steppin in anything, if you know what I mean.

He made sure he had the medallion before entering, just in case the wall should close again, and headed for the machine, where Julie had dropped his boot. He clambered in and sat on the little rubber pad while he slipped the still new and stiff footwear over his stockinged foot and tugged on the straps fastened to its top. He mumbled to himself with the strain.

Dadgummed tight thing.....how does anybody wear....everyday?.....

Suddenly the right strap broke cleanly where it had been stitched to the boot top, and Luckys arm jerked back violently, his elbow hitting the red button between the seats. As the doors whisked shut and the humming noise began to screech, he looked at Julie, where she sat on the little chest, and their eyes locked in bewilderment.

He watched as her mouth opened, but he was gone before the scream could reach his ears.

-------------------------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), August 02, 2000.

Olive, Elmo, and the three government agents all just stood there looking down at Pat. A dim, ethereal, bluish-white light was dancing around the puppy's wound. But it was growing more intense with each passing second! Olive and Elmo took a step back, while Robert, who was bending over Pat to see if he could help the pup, stood up and went to stand next to Agnes. The two agents gazed at each other, then at the old ranch couple who still were clasping hands tightly. Robert impulsively offered his own hand to Agnes. Without hesitation she took it in her own and held it. They smiled at one another, and continued to watch the strange spectacle unfolding before them.

Brooks was concentrating only on Pat, and was the first to notice that the bluish-white light was starting to engulf the puppy as it intensified. Nobody spoke. All were now transfixed by what they were seeing. After less than one full minute, Pat was resting completely in a 'ball' of bluish-white light. There was suddenly a smell like ozone in the air. They could see Pat right through the light-ball now as it became transparent! The puppy was breathing still, but only slightly. The light-ball itself, about the size of a large beach ball, started turning counter-clockwise and began glowing!

Then it happened. The light ball containing Pat lifted off of the ground, slowly at first, still turning, then went up faster until it hovered soundlessly above everything, even the trees. It started turning faster and faster until it was a blur of bluish-white light. Then, with a sound similar to what static electricity makes, the 'ball' zoomed off into the southern moonlit sky and was gone!

"Looks like Pat's out of our hands now too," said Brooks, still in awe over the experience. Everyone else muttered agreement and looked to him now for what to do next. They wouldn't have to wait long to find out what he wanted. The five of them, at Brooks prompting, went back to the trailer and talked. Over an hour passed. Olive and Elmo explained to the three government agents everything that had happened regarding Lucky. In turn, Brooks, Agnes and Robert filled in some of the missing pieces for them.

After a second hour had passed, Brooks felt that he had enough information to make a decision, and started telling everyone what he wanted them to do next. They listened attentively as he explained that Elmo and Olive should return back home in the cherry-red Mustang, but not talk to anyone about anything that had happened regarding all of the strange things they had seen and been through. Neither Elmo nor Olive had a problem with that, and they started making their way to the sports car for the long drive back.

Agnes and Robert's government car was totaled - still wrapped around a tree. Nobody realized that Julie's car was nearby too - hidden in a thicket-covered dead-end, the keys still in the ignition. Brooks decided he would give both agents a lift in the copter, to the covert airstrip, then see that they had transportation back to San Antonio, where they would be required to stay - and to be available for further questioning if needed.

Brooks knew he needed to determine who to report to instead of Alexander, for the information he had would be very valuable to the right 'someone'. But he had no idea who that 'someone' was. Neither did Agnes or Robert. They would all just have to wait and see.

The Mother Ship was loitering in Earth orbit. One of its small 'scout vessels' detached and sped towards the planet, tripping the southern fence of the continental United States on its way. Deep within Cheyenne Mountain, the chief duty officer at the SRO instantly realized that they were in for another long night. Within an hour another Flash Alert would be issued. Soon after, it would cross the desk of the Assistant Director of the FBI - who would once again call Alexander Lawless. But this time she wouldn't get any answer, which in and of itself would tell her something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

Inside the Mother ship, the thing in the mysterious liquid-filled cylindrical tube continued growing larger and stronger ever since the transplant had been successfully completed. The thing inside was almost ready to come out of its tube - and join an unsuspecting world. It began moving with anticipation.

-- Rob Michaels (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), August 02, 2000.

Wow! Another cliff hanger and this time, with Geese! :-)

Ah, heaven! ;-)

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), August 02, 2000.

By even the early months of 1865 the great anguish of blood was nearing its end. In reality, though the plantation country of southern Louisiana was never visited with the horror of the War of Northern Aggression like the other, more northerly areas of the Confederacy. There was no Antietam fought beneath the whispering willows, no Gettysburg to rival the cypress and sweetgum with ordered forests of white stones. Neither Sheridan to pillage the dark and primeval soil, nor Sherman to burn the stately houses which were monuments to grace and leisure at the cost of everlasting reproach.

Early in the conflict, Admiral David Farragut had run his ships through the Rebel gauntlet of Forts Jackson and St. Phillips in April of 1862. When his Federal troops took the city of New Orleans, he had essentially set aside the low delta country of the Mississippi, protecting it from the more violent confrontations visited upon cities like Charleston or Atlanta.

But the bayou country heard the war; heard the bugles and the screams of the horses. The dark waters shivered with the repercussions of distant artillery, and the night birds sang of corpses of boys, laying in blood-damp fields, their empty eyes staring up at unfamiliar stars.

And, as did all the South, the bayou country gave away its treasures to the war. Its crops were devoured by men or flame. The music of its church bells melted into the roar of cannon. The bright eyes and proud faces of its sons turned to decaying flesh in uncounted futile burials. This was the dearest cost; the moaning wail of grieved mothers, realizing in the rising mists of evening that their sons would never come again to their embrace.

By 1865, the South was running out. Out of corn, out of potatoes, out of flour and chickens. But mostly, the South was running out of sons. The hungry cannons of the North had consumed its men and boys as simply as the crows picked the stray corn from its untended gardens. Desperate to replace the living fodder required to stain the soil of ghastly battlegrounds, the South had first called the young to duty, and then even sent the black wealth it had so jealously protected, marching into the vain and vapid history of defeat.

In the early spring of that year, no men plowed the low fields beside the bayou, no women set the cotton to grow. By summer, the noise of war grew quiet, but no one came home to the House of the Fountain. Only the grizzled and nearly blind patriarch, and his equally aged wife, remained to eke out an existence on the once-manicured grounds and festive ballrooms of the great white house at the end of the lane marked by the moss-shrouded oak.

Mostly the world forgot the old plantation, passed it by without a backward glance. But there were rumors. Rumors of Yankees, come to change things, come to take the land, to take the heritage. And warnings of men, cut loose by the war. Loose of their families, of their homes; loose of the law. Marauders who would come in the dark of night or in the brightness of noon, to take without regard, to burn and to kill. Men who were possessed by their particular demons, risen by the call of blood, nurtured by the beauty of heedless death.

But on this summer day, one traveler did turn at the ancient oak. He pulled his little one-horse, covered wagon up to the front of the big house and stepped down in front of the gate, holding his hands high and turning round to show his unseen hosts that he was unarmed. His tinkers wagon was painted with his advertisement in stately and formal print; Tho. Eden, Master of Modern Photographic Method.

Thomas Eden was an itinerant photographer, making his way to the West, after terminating his employment as a battlefield correspondent for a Boston newspaper. he intended to reestablish his vocational standing by documenting the reported atrocities of the red savages along the Texas frontier. As the elderly couple emerged from the house, the man holding a ancient long-barreled musket, the woman cradling an earthenware jar of water, he launched good-humoredly into his practiced introduction.

Good day sir, and good day, madam. I mean you no burden. Just a place to stable a faithful beast and perhaps a shared repast at your table. I will gladly make a present of your photographic image in payment.

It was at that precise, unfortunate moment that they noticed the riders under the willows. Realizing immediately that flight was not possible, the three stood their ground and hoped that the outlaws would recognize their poverty, and pass them by. When the first shot rang out, and the old woman lurched to earth, shattering the little jug of water on a flagstone step, the men knew their fate was sealed.

The raiders left their bodies in the yard where they had fallen, and searched the house for food or portable wealth before setting fire to the empty barn and galloping off towards the Texas border. They were barely out of sight when Lucky and Julie stepped through the wall of the mysterious crypt.

-----------------------------------------

As her scream echoed uselessly among the listing markers in the little graveyard, Julie leapt to her feet and threw herself at the resolidified wall of the crypt. The roughness of the sea shell concrete tore at her palms as she slid down to collapse at its base.

The afternoon shadows were drifting across her tear streaked face when the boy showed up. He walked up out of the woods, in the direction away from the road, and stood silently looking at the strangely attired young woman. Julie was startled and slightly panicked when she looked up and saw him standing over her, the memory of the three corpses vivid in her mind.

The boy appeared to be about 14 years old, and wore the remnants of a homespun grey uniform and tattered kepi hat. He held out a canteen towards her.

I caught the horse out there by the water, and got her tied up in the woods. You help me right that little wagon and we can leave this place.

Julie looked around the corner again at the photographers overturned cart, and nodded. They used a fence timber to lever it upright, and as the youth went to fetch the horse, Julie brought out ragged curtains to cover the old couple and the unfortunate traveler. She then read the sign, and looked at the equipment stored securely in the covered bed area of the lightweight conveyance, and began to realize her own future.

When the boy had returned with the horse, and they had silently buried the bodies in shallow holes scraped in the black gumbo of the graveyard, she had lifted the little chest from the crypt into the wagon, and decided upon a course of action.

Now, boy, I thank you for catching my horse. My name is Eden. Mrs. Thomas Eden, Master of Modern Photographic Method. And what would your name be?

The boy took off his hat, extended a slightly grimy hand, and spoke with the firm optimism and confidence of youth, tempered by grim trial.

Francis, maam. Francis E. Greatwood. My folks are all dead, and the farm burned. I, ....Im headed for Texas to seek my fortune.

Julie let him assist her into the buckboard, then patted the empty seat next to her, and said gently,

Well, Francis E. Greatwood, Im bound for San Antonio, myself, so I guess you should ride along and protect me, since you are a Southern gentleman and I am a lady in distress.

The oak had stood in its place since the bayou was salty with youth, and the soil was a gift of the great river, fresh from the fields that men would later call Missouri. It had counted the risings of the moon, and it had numbered the seasons of flowers and of geese. It had noted with interest the heavy armor and strange horses of the Spanish as they passed, looking for cities of gold. It had smiled at the respect paid it by the red men, and mourned the unthinking industry of the whites. It had sang old, old songs over their graves, and harbored wayward spirits within its branches on moonless nights. Now, it roused briefly from its slumber to eavesdrop on the people passing beneath it in the little creaking wagon.

Julie suddenly smiled to herself, as if remembering a forgotten punch line of a favorite joke. She turned to her young companion, and asked a question, to which she already knew the answer.

Tell me, Mr. Francis E. Greatwood, just what does the E. stand for?

Why that would be Elmo, maam. Its kind of a family name.

------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), August 03, 2000.

The light-ball quickly carried Pat to the waiting scout vessel. It immediately took off to dock back on the Mother Ship. Everything aboard the ship was ready for the operation - an operation that was basically the same as last time, but in reverse. The beaver's androgynous body had been perfectly cloned and then grown to maturity in the liquid-filled tube. It was ready to receive its original owner's brain back.

Brooks made good on his promise to give Agnes and Robert a lift to the covert airstrip in the helicopter. Twelve hours after they had left the trailer, they were all back in San Antonio. Agnes and Robert were glad to be home - and happy to be together! They had been through a lot already, and perhaps would be going through much more together - as a couple.

On entering his hotel room, Brooks saw that the red message light on the room phone was on. That's interesting - nobody knows this number - except for Alexander! What the hell? He picked up the phone and listened to the message - then dialed the number as instructed. It was a 'friend' of Alexander's from another agency - the FBI, who answered. She insisted on speaking with him immediately - in person. She said it was urgent and involved National Security. She also needed to speak to the two field agents - in person also.

After hanging up, he filled in Agnes and Robert and then made flight reservations for all three of them. They were going to Washington D.C. first thing in the morning to meet with, of all people, the Assistant Director of the FBI. She evidently knew what Alexander was up to, but needed them to tell her what had happened since she last talked to the Head of ADRO - before he went down to La. to capture Lucky and get the machine. Brooks knew that they would tell her everything she wanted to know within their means.

The operation, once again, was a complete success. The two teeth, however, puzzled the Ship's occupants - the new ones that grew in were white and made of bone, instead of gold like they found originally. They decided that they would keep the gold ones on the ship and monitor the beaver's progress after release to see if this made any difference or not. The ship prepared Pat for yet another journey.

"Too bad she doesn't have to pay me for the information," Brooks thought to himself. Then again, he was glad the whole thing was almost over, and knew that Agnes and Robert felt the same way. By now, Elmo and Olive would be close to their home, and glad of it. He wanted to get back to his 'regular' job and life as a police officer in New Jersey. There were people and places and things he missed. He wouldn't have guessed it, but he, too, was also missed. At least he could be going home after being debriefed tomorrow. It really would be over soon - thankfully.

Eeny and Meeny were taking turns jumping off of the tree and into the stream. Miney was still afraid to climb the tree and just watched from the bank. As a result, she was the first to notice that something strange was happening. It was she who first saw the approaching lights - the ship - the beam - and their long-lost sibling 'floating' down it towards home.

They all scampered over to Pat just as happy as beavers could be. They noticed that Pat had teeth like they did now, but they didn't care one way or the other. They simply resumed their playing - together. Pat went to the highest branch, just like always, ran to the end, and jumped with a resounding splash into the cool water. They happily played as if nothing had ever happened.

The family was united. Pat was home again!

-- Rob Michaels (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), August 03, 2000.

The machine was designed so that it could be emergency launched into the time warp continuum, by touching the red square, only, without pre-staging the control pads that were the blue and green squares. In such a situation, the fail-safe program of date selection was initiated, and the machine returned to its most previous destination.

Alexander Lawless was pacing the dark of the metal room. He had been so close, this time. He had once again seen the machine, and once again lost it to his old nemesis at the last moment. Even with all the resources he had at his disposal, somehow the bumbling old fool had beaten him to the portal vehicle, and left him behind in this pitiful and primitive society.

But now, where to go? How to start again? Alexander knew there would be questions being asked outside, questions he would never be able to answer. There would be investigations and allegations; possibly even convictions and confinement. Machine or no machine, he knew it was time to once again disappear.

Suddenly the room began to brighten with a bluish light, and little colored specks began float about in the center. Alexander backed against the wall as the machine materialized with a slight sizzle and the peculiar smell of hot electrical circuits.

Lucky had been dreaming of the dancing elephant again. This time it was leading a circus parade with acrobats and jugglers performing alongside great painted wagons filled with ferocious beasts. A lithe and beautiful Godiva rode bareback amidst a cloud of golden curls, and a steam calliope roared its festive march. As the dream procession passed, Lucky began to follow the final wagon. It was painted black and was pulled by two prancing black horses, glistening with sweat beneath blankets of honeysuckle and wild rose blossoms. On either side of the dark hearse, were long windows, and as Lucky looked, he was drawn in, to pear down into an empty coffin lined with meadow flowers. Suddenly the wagon jolted to a stop, and he began to fall headfirst into the bright depths of the casket.

So, you are finally awake, old friend.

Lucky lay sprawled on the stone floor of the crypt, where Alexander had dropped him after dragging his unconscious bulk from inside the machine. He put one hand to shield his eyes from the light and looked up into the other mans face.

Who..who are you?

Come, come, now, Odelon, or Old Lon, or Lucky, or whatever youre calling yourself these days, dont you recognize your old partner?

He squatted down, and put his face close to the older mans, as his hand deftly removed an expensive hairpiece, and pealed off false eyebrows. A flood of confused memory washed into Luckys brain, and he whispered, as if only he needed to hear,

Yzandr.

Yes, Yzandr! And I will at last have my justice, and my machine!

YOUR MACHINE!? Why you pig-kissin, low-down,..

Yzandr stuck the barrel of his automatic pistol under the chin of his outraged captive.

Yes, Odelon, MY machine, because I say it is. And Ive got a ticket on it to paradise. Only this time, Ill be traveling alone.

He backed away from the old clown and stepped quickly into the door of the machine. As the glow intensified, Lucky slipped off the contrary left boot, which had never been fully back on his foot. When the humming had reached its crescendo, he casually tossed it up onto the nearest wing-like appendage that he and Julie had assembled into the sides of the machine when they had first found it. He could see the horrified face of Yzandr as the machine began to shiver and vibrate violently, before it disappeared with an ear-splitting screech, leaving behind two of the lightweight pieces which had fallen from their notches on the vehicles cabin.

Lucky stood and brushed the dust from his jeans. Placing his hands on his hips, he chuckled to himself and said aloud,

Yeah, Yzandr, but it looks like that ticket was one-way, ole bud. Say hi to the Jurassic Age fer me, will ya. The dinosaurs will love ya; I bet they beg you to stay........FER DINNER!

He patted his right pocket, and remembered the gold and emeralds he had hastily stuffed there, then reached into the left and brought out the little dog tag of Pats. As he stepped through the wall of the crypt, he saluted the little elephant statue, and called,

Well, darlin, I think its high time fer this ole clown to go get hisself a jar of cuzzin Iggies finest, and see if I caint find that there tattooed lady.

He waddled off into the sultry twilight, whistling an old calliope melody. Passing by the bayou, he paused to look at his reflection, and once again dug into his pocket for the small item he had found in the old circus trailer in the meadow.

Carefully placing the band over his head, he looked down at the grinning face floating on the dark and ancient water, and adjusted a large, red rubber nose.

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THE END

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-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), August 03, 2000.

OK, we're through now.

SO..... this here's the part where everbody comes up and pats on the back and says things like, "Oh, Lon, you are so great" or "Robbie, you're just the smartest thing alive."

I know a few of you ladies would porbably have designs on couple of swell guys like us, but I gotta tell ya, Rob's on a short leash, and my missus could tell you things that would......well, lets just not go there, shall we.

Anyhow, I know I really enjoyed writing for all you Frellians, and i got a bonus by getting to know Rob a little better. We'e talked about a sequel to the sequel, but it won't be for several months, because we have to do dumb things, like make a living.

But, like I said, just step up and tell us how wonderful we are. If you are at a loss for words, just say, "Youse guys are _____________" We got a whole list of adorable adjectives we can fill in the blank with.

No need to shove, there's room for everyone.

Anytime, now.

Anybody?

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(dadgummit) ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), August 03, 2000.

Lon: I just wanted to say 'thank you', here on the thread, for your agreeing to join with me in this whole story-writing experience. When we started, we had no idea what to expect! But it really was a lot of fun - right from the beginning. I don't think I'll ever forget doing it!

And a special thanks to Tricia for her continued 'loud and repetitive' enthusiasm and support. Hope you liked the Geese part :)

Rob

-- Rob Michaels (thesonofdust@yahoo.com), August 03, 2000.

wellllll, Lon if you weren't quite so impatient, I'd be glad to shower both you and Rob with all the superlatives you could wish for... like, wonderful, great entertainers, superb writers.... spellbinding, thrilling, enchanting, can't put it down (or pick it up for that matter :-)

The only bad part is... MONTHS?!?!?!?!? You want us to wait months for the next one??? :-(

Oh, well, I'll console myself with a trip over to the old TB to read the original Lon story... and back to the original Lon and Rob story.. and by then, if you're still on the work instead of write kick, I'll just re-read this one :-)

::: clap ::: clap ::: clap :::

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), August 03, 2000.