“Well . . . there are days that are like that,” Max said sympathetically.
“Ruined” Dr. X wailed. Angrily, he flung the hypodermic out the porthole.
“Ah, ah . . . temper, temper,” Max cautioned.
Dr. X sat down on his bunk and wept. “I’m nobody! Just plain old Dr. X again!”
“Fame is fickle,” Max said consolingly.
“Max . . .” 99 said.
“Yes, 99?”
“Max . . . what’s all that commotion outside? Hear that?”
Max listened. “Voices . . . running . . . could it be the posse again?”
“I don’t think so, Max. It sounds different.”
“I’ll check on it,” Max said.
He went to the porthole and put his head out the opening.
“What is it, Max?”
Max pulled his head back in. “Passengers,” he replied. “They’re a bit excited.”
“Why, Max? What happened?”
Max turned to Dr. X. “As it turns out,” he said, “your serum didn’t evaporate, Doctor.”
Dr. X stared at him, red-eyed from weeping. “But I saw it myself. It wasn’t there.”
“What you mean is, you didn’t see it.”
“That’s what I said—it wasn’t there.”
“Oh, it was there, all right, Doctor. But, you were right about one thing. Exposure to the air did have an effect on it. It made it invisible.”
“My serum? It turned on itself?”
“Exactly. When you threw that hypodermic out the porthole, it was still full of serum. Unfortunately, you have a good arm. The hypodermic cleared the deck and landed in the ocean.”
“And now—?”
“Yes. That was what all the yelling was about. The ocean—as far as the naked eye can discern—has disappeared.”
“Then what is the ship floating on, Max?” 99 said.
“Oh, the ocean is still there,” Max said. “It’s just invisible.”
99 frowned. “That’s a little hard to imagine, Max.”
“Think of it as six guinea pigs,” he suggested.
99 frowned harder. “Yes, that helps,” she said. “Now, I can imagine it.”
“Ruined!” Dr. X moaned.
“You moaned that before,” Max said.
“I’m ruined again. This is the second time.”
“Yes, twice in one day is something to moan about,” Max admitted. “But, it shouldn’t be a surprise. After all, ruin, dishonor and cloudy skies are the usual result of trying to play ball with the Forces of Evil. Or, as a great philosopher once put it: Bad Guys Never Win!”
“I’ve learned my lesson,” Dr. X sobbed. “I’ll never experiment with invisibility again. I’ll stick to what I know—formulas for cake mixes.”
“You mean—?”
“Yes,” Dr. X replied, “that’s my regular work. I developed the invisibility formula by accident. I was working on a mix for an upside-down cake. Only, I got it wrong side up. I didn’t want to waste the batter I had left, though. So I added a few drops of coloring and just a pinch of salt—hoping that would turn it right side up—upside-down, that is.”
“But it didn’t work.”
“No. The whole thing disappeared. That’s when I realized that I had developed an invisibility serum.”
“That’s too bad,” Max said. “The world could use a good upside-down cake mix.”
“Maybe I’ll try again someday,” Dr. X said. “In a few years—after this episode today has become nothing but a bitter memory.”
“Well, good luck,” Max said, extending a hand. “It’s been a pleasant mission, Doctor. You’ve been a worthy adversary.”
“Nice of you to say so,” Dr. X replied, smiling, taking Max’s hand. “I hope we—”
Like a stone, Dr. X dropped to the floor.
“Your ring, Max,” 99 said. “You injected him with the paralyzing drug.”
Max looked down at the unconscious Dr. X. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“Shouldn’t we do something for him, Max?” 99 said.
“No. After what he’s been through today, he can probably use the rest,” Max said. “Let’s just tiptoe out. It’s the kindest thing we could do.”
In a kindly way, Max, 99 and Fang tiptoed out.
Max closed the stateroom door, then they walked down the corridor, and, a few moments later, stepped out on deck.
“It’s morning!” 99 said, surprised. “We were up all night!”
“Yes, there’s the rosy-fingered dawn,” Max said, “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
“Lovely,” 99 sighed blissfully. “And, just think, Max—now we can enjoy it. Our mission is accomplished. For the next few days, we can relax and enjoy the cruise.”
“At least, what you can see of it from the brig,” a voice from behind them said.
As one, Max, 99 and Fang whipped around. Confronting them were the Captain and the nosy steward.
“Top o’ the morning to you, Captain,” Max said cheerily. “And the bottom o’ the morning to you, steward,” he added.
“They’re the ones who did it, Captain,” the steward said.
“I doubt it,” the Captain answered. “I don’t think they could handle it. Even if that is what happened.”
“What are we talking about?” Max asked.
“The ocean,” the Captain replied. “There’s a theory afoot that it’s been stolen.”
“I see. But you don’t believe it.”
“That’s pretty far-fetched,” the Captain said.
“I’ll go along with that,” Max said.
“It’s obvious what really happened,” the Captain said. “I told them back at the office that some day this was going to happen. If we keep driving these big ships back and forth through the ocean, I told them, some day it’s bound to happen.”
“What was bound to happen, Captain?”
“We wore it out,” the Captain replied. “You can’t drive a bunch of big ships back and forth through an ocean, year after year after year, and not expect it to finally wear out. It’s only water, you know. It’s not made of iron.”
“I see the logic of that,” Max said.
“Oh, well, no matter,” the Captain smiled. “It’ll be deductible from our income tax. Depreciation.”
“All’s well that ends well,” Max smiled.
“My sentiments exactly,” the Captain said. He turned to the steward. “Take these three to the brig.”
“Max—do something!” 99 begged. “I don’t want to spend the cruise in the brig!”
“Do you have any suggestions?” he said.
“Can’t we tell them who we really are, Max? What harm is there in it? After all, our mission is accomplished.”
“Rule 301, 99. A secret agent must never reveal his identity.”
“Oh, hang Rule 301!”
“Well, as a matter of fact, there is a qualifying clause to Rule 301,” Max said. “Let’s see . . . how does it go? Oh, yes! Rule 301, Clause A: ‘A secret agent must never reveal his identity unless it would be inconvenient not to do so.’ I think this situation is covered by that clause.”
“Tell them, Max”
“Captain . . . steward . . .” Max said, “ . . . inconvenience forces me to reveal our true identities. The fact is, we are not a brilliant space scientist, his attractive assistant, and a scientific experiment. The truth of the matter is, we are dedicated secret agents, operating out of Control.”
“You’re out of control, all right, if you expect me to believe that,” the Captain said.
“If you won’t believe me, will you believe my assistant?” Max asked.
“She’s a pretty little thing,” the Captain said, “but those kind always tell the biggest whoppers.”
“All right, then, would you believe my dog?”
“Rorff!” Fang barked.
“That’s closer to it,” the Captain said. “But I’m still nagged by a pinch of a doubt.”
“Then,” Max said hopef
ully, “would you believe the Chief?”
“That guy in the Injun Room? Why should I believe him? He sold me a ballpoint pen that burns holes in the paper everytime I try to write a check.”
“This is a different Chief,” Max explained. “The Chief I’m referring to is head of Control.”
“Well . . . I’ll listen to his story,” the Captain said. “Where is he?”
“Back on the mainland,” Max replied.
The Captain turned to the steward again. “Lock ’em up.”
“Hold it!” Max said. “In spite of the fact that the Chief is hundreds—nay, thousands—of miles away, I am still able to communicate with him.”
“How?” the Captain said dubiously.
“I’ll call him on my shoe,” Max replied.
“Lock ’em up!”
“Hold it again!” Max protested. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain. You see, in fact, my shoe is really a telephone.”
The Captain smiled. “After you get out of the brig,” he said, “you’ll have to drop by my stateroom. I have a compass up there that will interest you. It’s really a dozen-and-a-half avocado pears.”
“Just let me prove to you that my shoe is a telephone,” Max said. “That’s all I ask—the chance to call the Chief on my shoe.”
The Captain rolled his eyes heavenward. “Granted,” he said.
Max removed his shoe, then dialed.
Max: Hello, Chief? This is Agent 86. Come in, please.
(silence)
Max: Chief? Are you there, Chief? Come in, Chief! This is Max. Please come in, Chief. The fate of an entire cruise hangs in the balance.
(silence)
Max hung up his shoe. “It seems we’ve lost contact,” he said to the Captain. “I was afraid that might happen when we got this far out to sea.”
“Are you sure?” the Captain said. “Maybe the Chief didn’t hear his phone ringing. Maybe he was in the shower.”
“Nooooo, I’m afraid I’ve lost contact.”
“You didn’t drop a dime in the heel,” the Captain said. “Maybe that’s what went wrong.”
“Captain, believe me, I have lost contact.”
“You’re giving up too easily,” the Captain said. “Let me try it.”
Max took off his shoe and handed it to the Captain. The Captain dialed.
Captain: Hello, Chief? You there? This is the Captain speaking. Come in.
Chief: What-um want-um, Cap?
Captain: I’ll tell you what I want—a little matter of five bucks for a ballpoint pen that burns holes in my checks!
Chief: Sposed to use-um ballpoint pen under water-um, Cap. Water-um put-um out fire.
Captain: How can I do that? No water. The last ship that went through here wore it out completely.
Chief: Caveat emptor, Cap.
Captain: What does that mean?
Chief: You give-um me back Manhattan Island, I give-um you back five bucks you pay-um for pen.
Captain: Listen, Chief, I’m not the kind who pulls rank, but . . .
The debate continued.
“Max, do you think the Captain is really going to throw us back in the brig?” 99 said.
“I don’t think he’ll get around to it, 99,” Max replied. “The way this is going, I suspect he’ll be on the phone for the rest of the trip.”
99 yawned. “I’m tired, Max.”
“Better turn in for a nap,” Max said.
“Rorff!”
“All right, you, too, Fang.”
“Aren’t you coming, Max?” 99 said.
Max sighed wearily. “No,” he said, looking painfully at the Captain. “I have to wait for my shoe.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WILLIAM JOHNSTON (1924-2010), author of many movie and TV tie-in novels was born January 11th, 1924 and passed away October 15th, 2010.
On January 4th, 2010, The International Association of Media Tie-in Writers www://iamtw.org announced it was bestowing The Faust, its Grand Master Award for excellence, to author William Johnston, the writer of over a hundred tie-in novels and the most prolific practitioner of the craft.
(From the January/February 2010 Newsletter - IAMTW)
The Newsletter of the International Association
of Media Tie-in Writers
IAMTW’s GRAND MASTER SCRIBE AWARD,
THE FAUST, GOES TO THE GENRE’S MOST
PROLIFIC PRACTITIONER
By David Spencer
The inarguable preeminent author of tie-ins, with more published tie-in titles to his credit (well more than 100) than any writer in the game before or since—the legendary and until now somewhat elusive William Johnston—will be honored by the IAMTW with a Faust Award, the honor bestowed upon Grand Masters. He is currently residing in San Jose, California, and will turn 86 on January 11th, 2010—a fitting number, as it is his series of novels based on the spy sitcom Get Smart, about Secret Agent 86 for CONTROL, which turned his byline into a virtual tie-in “brand” and thereafter defined the nature of his tie-in (and the largest proportion of his literary) career as the industry’s comedy specialist.
Johnston’s style is paradoxically recognizable, despite seeming matter of fact and transparent, his narration employing little reliance on metaphor, idiosyncratic locution or other literary manipulation. But the ostensible simplicity is utterly deceptive: for in the “serious” books, depth of characterization sneaks up on the reader, dialogue and internalization unusually nuanced, layered and when appropriate even subtle, with a psychological perception very ahead of its time.
Johnston’s humorous novels are a textbook lesson on comic timing in prose, possibly because he had some experience as an actor (a signature of his books is writing phone conversations as play-format dialogue exchanges, woodshedding redundant “he saids” and “she saids”).
He knew the wisdom and the technique of “simply” staying out of the way, and letting the tale be carried by action, dialogue, and an impeccable sense of cadence and rhythm. Plus his own unique brand of whimsy and wordplay.
Johnston’s career started in 1960 with the release of a hardcover comic murder mystery, The Marriage Cage (Lyle Stuart, reissued in paperback by Dell), which earned him a Best First Novel Edgar Award nomination from the Mystery Writers of America. Curiously, this did not lead immediately to more mystery novels (though he would write mystery tie-ins later in his career), but rather to a number of early 60s pulp titles for Monarch Books, which ranged from light comedy (The Power of Positive Loving) to medical romance (the Doctor Starr trilogy) to soft core racy (Save Her for Loving, Teen Age Tramp, Girls on the Wing).
The medical novels in particular either dovetailed with, or led to, his first tie-in commissions, which were for original novels based on medical dramas, such as The Nurses (Bantam), Doctor Kildare (Lancer and Whitman) and Ben Casey. These books, published between 1962 and 1964, were so successful that a cover variant on The Nurses includes a “2nd Big Printing” starburst; and his next (and it would seem last) original medical romance, Two Loves Has Nurse Powell (Neva Paperbacks) trumpets “From the author of Ben Casey. ”
It’s likely that among these books, the Doctor Kildare title written for Whitman’s young audience line was a significant pivot point, because in 1965, Tempo Books (the Young Audience paperback imprint of Grosset & Dunlop) commissioned Johnston to write Get Smart, an original novel based on the spy satire sitcom starring Don Adams, Barbara Feldon, and Edward Platt, created by Mel Brooks and Buck Henry. The first Get Smart book proved so staggeringly popular, going through multiple printings, that follow ups were immediately commissioned, leading to what would become a series of nine books over the course of the show’s five-season history.
That doesn’t sound like much in new millennium terms, but in the 60s it amounted to a single-author original tie-in grand slam, outdistanced only by the Dark Shadows series authored by Dan (as “Marilyn”) Ross. Indeed, it was the third place holder for TV tie-in series originals in general, with only the 23-book Man
from U.N.C.L.E. series—by multiple authors—between it and Dark Shadows. (James Blish’s 12 book Star Trek series for Bantam, which continued into the 70s, did not feature original tales, but was rather comprised exclusively of short stories adapting the show’s teleplays.)
Johnson’s gig as Maxwell Smart’s official novelist in turn led to his becoming the go-to guy for sitcom-based novels in general. Continuing with Tempo Books from the rest of the decade into the mid-70s, he authored a one-shot based on the short-lived Captain Nice (starring William Daniels of 1776 and also created by Buck Henry) and book series based on Room 222, Happy Days, and Welcome Back, Kotter. Concurrently he also authored books based on The Flying Nun for Ace, as well as The Brady Bunch and Nanny and the Professor (Lancer). As if that weren’t plenty, he also did sitcom novels for Whitman, including titles based on The Munsters, Gilligan’s Island, Bewitched, The Monkees, and F-Troop.
Though the sitcom novels dominated Johnston’s tie-in career, and were the work with which he was reflexively identified, he still did a catalog’s worth of work in just about every other TV tie-in genre except science fiction and military. He authored one-off mysteries based on My Friend Tony (Lancer), Ironside (Whitman), and the comic strip Dick Tracy (Tempo), a two-book series based on the American Revolution youth historical, The Young Rebels, and an original Western based on The Iron Horse (Popular Library). Under pseudonyms he tackled social drama, with a book based on Rod Serling’s The New People (as “Alex Steele” for Tempo) and two based on Matt Lincoln (as “Ed Garth” for Lancer). His catalog even includes a smattering of juvenilia, with Whitman Big Little books based on Hanna Barbera cartoon characters such as Magilla Gorilla and Snagglepuss, among others. (According to the late Howard Ashman—whose day job, before Little Shop of Horrors made him a musical theatre icon, was assistant editor at Ace/Tempo during Johnston’s most prolific period—Johnston’s services as sitcom specialist were so much in demand that, simply to keep up the pace and meet the deadlines, he would occasionally create detailed outlines which would then be farmed out to anonymous “ghosts” for fleshing out. Since the style remains consistent, one assumes Johnston added the final polish.)
Get Smart 2 - Sorry, Chief . . . Page 13