It was an exceedingly smug, yet festive event. Tom did not understand the strange local customs, so when he found an oddly shaped pink knit hat which had been recently discarded, he put it on in order to blend in better. Most of the other marchers were carrying colorful, grammatically incorrect signage having something to do with Cheetos, or pithy sayings that always boiled down to how anyone who disagreed with them were stupid idiots who could be safely dismissed without thought, analysis, or debate. This didn’t seem particularly scientific to Tom, but what did he know? He was only a man with eleven advanced degrees who flew around the galaxy in a space ship. It wasn’t like he knew “science.”
There was no time to scan the entire crowd of self-righteous marchers, so Tom would need to gather human intel directly. Luckily he had been trained on how to build rapport with backwards, superstitious civilizations. He approached some marchers who were having a conversation.
“I read on this movie star’s blog that a good juice cleanse can remove vaccines that cause autism, because I think I’m like totally allergic to gluten.”
“Me, too! I just need to align my chakras so my healing crystals will fight off GMOs better.”
“I’m so glad that we’re smart and believe in science, unlike those nasty Republicans!”
Tom smoothly tried to mingle. “Greetings, fellow citizens of Earth 169-J-00561. I, too, pound sign f’ing love science.”
One of the Science Marchers glared at Tom suspiciously. Despite Tom’s new pink hat, she must have suspected he was not really of their tribe. “I wish Medicare would cover goat milk therapy, don’t you?”
From his extensive knowledge of anthropology, Tom could tell this was some manner of test. He would have to tread carefully in order to be accepted as one of them. “Obviously.” They did not immediately attack, so Tom pushed onward. He needed to build a relationship of trust. She was carrying a sign that said republicans r flat teh earth society. “I have been to the Flat Earth. It was mostly a tourist trap with a very underwhelming gift shop.”
“Triggered!” She hissed and pointed. “Republican nazi fascist sexist!”
“Seize the climate denier!” someone else shouted.
This was not going well at all. Before Tom could be seized by the mob and burned at the stake for heresy against their unquestionable science gods, he threw down a ninja smoke bomb and escaped in the confusion.
After several more failed interactions, Tom found himself wishing that Jimmy was still employed with the firm, because at least he would be able to communicate in the mangled gibberish of made-up buzz words this particular tribe spoke. Many of these humans were also sporting man buns. Tom began wondering if perhaps he had been too harsh on the lad . . .
Then Tom caught a break. Through the meandering crowd he spotted another bow tie wearer. It was Bill Nye! Finally. And since Nye wasn’t a client, Tom was free to deal with him however he wanted, up to and including merciless beatings. Tom was looking forward to getting this claim filed so he could return to a sensible reality. He began pushing his way through the marchers.
Only that was when Tom realized he wasn’t the only one heading directly toward The Science Guy.
Like Tom, the pair of manatee bounty hunters were doing their best to blend in with the Science Marchers. They had both put on 8XL I’m With Her T-shirts over their power armor. One manatee was holding a sign that he’d found which boldly declared hands off my uterus, only he was holding it upside down because he had probably never bothered to learn English. The other had stretched one of the odd pink hats over the glass dome of his helmet. Their disguises were perfect. Though the anti-grav propulsion units in the suits made it so that their tails were hovering inches off of the ground, none of the marchers seemed to notice. Manatees were sleek infiltrators that way.
One bounty hunter stuck a flipper beneath his Hillary shirt—probably stolen for this mission, since manatees were such big supporters of free market economics they’d never vote Democrat—and pulled out a Combat Wombat.
That was a bad sign. There was no Less Lethal setting on a Combat Wombat. In fact, they were advertised as More Than Lethal, because sometimes they even killed ghosts. CorreiaTech was so philosophically opposed to Less Than Lethal weapons that they’d once made a version that shot bean bag rounds, only the bean bags were made of depleted uranium.
So these manatees really weren’t messing around.
“Hmmm.” Tom was in a bit of a quandary. Even though the bounty hunters were from a different dimension, Nye wasn’t one of his clients, so technically this wasn’t his problem. However, if they obliterated Nye before Tom confirmed he was the kidnapper then he’d never know where to send the claim paperwork. So he pushed onward. “Excuse me. Pardon me.”
Before Tom could reach The Science Guy, he received a priority call from Muffy. “I am really rather busy right now, Ms. Wappler.”
“I figured, Mr. Stranger, but it’ll only take a second. Remember how those initial DNA tests from the seawater spilled at the scene came back as Aquatic Mammal? Well, it wasn’t Wendell’s tank water at all. I’ll send you over the detailed results right now.”
“Very well.” Tom viewed the report over his infolink as he continued to shove hippies out of the way. He was very good at multitasking. He gasped when he got to the DNA match. This wasn’t just terrible news, it was the worst outcome possible! The repercussions would be awful. He’d never hear the end of it. Also, it meant that he had been set up.
“The kidnapper isn’t Bill Nye after all.”
“That guy who made My Sex Junk?”
“Yes. And he’s about to be destroyed by manatees for a crime he didn’t commit.”
“Ugh. Let them. That song was so bad it’s like sound barfed in my ears.”
“Indeed.”
“Photons that touched the My Sex Junk video touched my eyes, Mr. Stranger. My eyes! I had to pay to grow new eyeballs in a vat and get a transplant it was so bad.”
The manatee was dramatically screwing a silencer onto the muzzle of his Combat Wombat. “Please forgive me for interrupting your tirade, Ms. Wappler, but I will have to call you back.”
Bill Nye was giving a long-winded speech to his adoring worshippers. “So then Neil DeGrasse Tyson said nobody could make science more boring and pedantic than he could, so I said challenge accepted! Ha ha ha!” He noticed Tom. “Oh, hello my child, have you come to hear about how our Lord and Master Science has declared nuclear power is scary bad?”
“Everyone on this planet is insane, but no.” In fact, Tom had three nuclear reactors on his body at that moment, and he used one to activate his personal energy shield because the manatees were closing fast. “Get behind me, Science Man.”
“Witchcraft!” Bill Nye shrieked when he saw Tom’s flickering energy shield materialize.
The manatee fired his Combat Wombat. The hypervelocity round exploded against the shield. Tom immediately responded by spin-kicking the pistol from the manatee’s flipper. Though incredibly fearsome, their lack of opposable thumbs could be a real detriment in close combat.
The bounty hunters seemed surprised to see an Interdimensional Insurance Agent here, and hesitated before launching their rampage. Tom took advantage of their momentary confusion.
“Stand down, noble manatees. Though sanctimonious and annoying, this human is not your enemy.”
The bounty hunters exchanged a glance. They did not give up so easily, but they knew Tom Stranger had a reputation for integrity. “Fleeerp?”
“Correct. Bill Nye has, as you put it, jumped the shark, but we have been lied to. In the colloquial terms your people are so fond of, he is a red herring.”
“The red herring is endangered because of fracking,” Bill Nye suddenly declared. “Impeach Trump or the red herring will go extinct. Science has spoken!”
“Science has spoken!” chanted all the marchers, even though that hypothesis had not been tested, and no data had been collected or analyzed. “We are more smarter!”
“I stand in awe of how absurd this planet is.” Tom turned back to the bounty hunters, because at least they were rational. “Please spare these pathetic land mammals. I will go settle this claim, and retrieve your leader.”
“Hoooon,” said the other manatee.
”What do you mean you two are just tying up loose ends because your herd has already dispatched an armada to wage unrelenting total war across the Multiverse?”
He spread his flippers apologetically, like whoops, shit happens. Then since his mission was already compromised, the manatee took his ridiculous pink hat off in order to retain what little dignity he had left.
“Oh, no,” Bill Nye cried once their clever disguise was revealed. “Behold! As was prophesized in my scholarly Netflix show, these peaceful sea creatures have been driven from their habitat by global warming! Hurry, my children! Roll them back into the water. They’re dying!”
The marchers immediately mobbed the manatees. The bounty hunter began beating people with his uterus sign. It turned into a giant wrestling match between the cultists and the manatees who really didn’t want to get rolled anywhere. Tom figured they could work it out without him, so he began running to his mech. He had to get back to Wendell’s home world before the manatee armada indiscriminately pulverized every Florida in existence.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tom’s 12:00 Noon Reminder
To Have Muffy Schedule Some Training
On Non-Violent Conflict Resolution
Miami, Florida
Earth #984-A-3256
THEY HAD ASSEMBLED a crack team of insurance professionals in the abandoned warehouse across the street from the building where they believed the kidnappers were holding Wendell. When Tom arrived, Muffy was already briefing the Junior Associates.
“Okay, kiddos, time is of the essence. The manatee armada is on its way to blow up this Florida as we speak. However, we can’t just barge in willy-nilly and start wrecking the place.”
One of the Junior Associates raised his hand. “How come?”
“Because this has potential public relations nightmare written all over it. Duh. You all saw Mr. Stranger’s press conference this morning. This is super sensitive. The last thing this company needs is more controversy. One screw-up and this is going to be all over social media. The details are in your handouts . . . Oh, hey, the boss is here. It’s all yours, Mr. Stranger.”
“Thank you, Ms. Wappler.” Tom took his place in front of his team.
They were the elite, the best of the best, the finest Junior Associates in the Multiverse, perched like falcons, ready to swoop in and deliver the finest-quality customer service possible. They all came from harsh, tough worlds. Before getting into the far more challenging field of Interdimensional Insurance, each of them had developed a respectable resume. Rip Face-Punch had been an elite hostage rescue team leader, brain surgeon, and children’s book illustrator. Dirk Hardsack had been a matador, Shaolin monk, and inventor of the Fidget Spinner. And last but not least, there was professional polar bear wrangler, Iditarod champion, and cosmonaut, Beardly McSpetsnaz.
“Gentle-agents, we will strike in exactly five minutes and forty-seven seconds. I have downloaded detailed maps of the target directly to your infolinks. Using my years of experience I have formulated an exacting plan, accounting for every possible danger, which you will memorize, and then execute to the second. This will be a surgical strike.”
Tom pointed at each Junior Associate as he gave their assignments. “Face-Punch, you are on over watch. McSpetsnaz, crowd control, and remember when you hand out business cards to let them know about our free rate quote. Wappler, heavy weapons.”
Muffy pumped her fist in the air. “Yes!”
“And Hardsack, claims paperwork.”
“Aww . . . but I brought my nunchucks.”
“Do not forget the photo documentation this time. This claim could go to Arbitration and Chuck Norris has no patience for sloppy paperwork. Now, as Ms. Wappler has already so aptly explained, discretion is everything; the reputation of our company, and also the future of this Florida, are at stake. Due to the sensitive nature of the individuals involved, this could go very badly for us. We must keep this quiet. So I reiterate . . . discretion is of the utmost importance.”
“Sir, there might be a problem.” Face-Punch interrupted the briefing, but he was at the window on lookout duty, so it had to be important. “I don’t think Jimmy the Intern got the memo.”
“I fired Jimmy this morning. Of course, I did not CC him on the email.”
Face-Punch peered through the scope of his Sniper Wombat to confirm. “Well, Jimmy’s blundering down the middle of the street directly toward the target building at the head of what appears to be an angry mob.”
Well, there went that plan.
Jimmy was having a great time. “Man, this is awesome!”
The bartender looked over their small army as they flipped over cars and broke windows, and nodded approvingly. “You were right, Jimmy. Taking the time to stop by Home Depot for torches and pitchforks first really set the ambiance.”
Mr. Stranger was always talking about the value of being proactive. He was going to be so impressed that Jimmy was sure to get his old job back. Sure, there might have been some inadvertent property damage to the city on their way over, but it was a small price to pay for customer service or whatever.
“This is the place,” the bartender declared.
It was a rough neighborhood down by the docks. There was lots of trash, stray dogs, and graffiti everywhere. The cars had already been flipped over so Jimmy’s mob flipped them back right-side up.
“Where?”
The bartender pointed. “That one.”
The building was extra sketchy, cinder blocks, bars over the windows, razor wire over the bars, and featuring gaudy neon signs which declared the establishment was named Bottlenose Jack’s.
The mob paused because it was a little intimidating. This place had a rep.
“You sure about this, Jimmy? These guys are the baddest gang in town. There’s no shame in backing down now.”
“No way, man. Insurance is counting on me!” Jimmy boldly walked right up to the entrance.
A five-hundred-pound cyborg gorilla was working the door. “Hit the bricks, human.”
“Hey, aren’t you the same gorilla from that other bar?”
“Do I know you?”
“Dude, we talked like a couple hours ago!”
The gorilla shrugged. “You puny Homo sapiens all look the same to me. But sure, the way the economy is now, I need two jobs just to put peanut butter and grubs on the table. Not all of us gorillas can get fancy insurance jobs like Amy. Some of us got to work for a living.”
“Yeah, tough story, bro.”
The bartender joined them. “What’s taking so long? Oh, hey, Harambe.”
“’Sup, Danny.”
“Second job, huh? Me, too. I teach interpretive dance at the community college.”
Fascinating as this was, Jimmy really didn’t have time for dicking around. That checkout line at Home Depot had taken forever. “Anyways, same deal. I’ve got to go in and rough these guys up for information. So, step aside.”
“No can do, buddy.” The gorilla jerked one massive thumb toward another sign. This one read dolphins only. “No bipeds allowed. Trust me, you don’t want to go in there anyway. It’s all porpoise strippers eating fish. Real snooty.”
“Wait . . . This is a dolphin bar? Like literally dolphins? Like those humorless, easily-offended reviewers who are all angry at Mr. Stranger?”
“Dude, Jimmy, I told you on the riot over this was a dolphin bar.”
“Yeah, but I thought you meant like Miami Dolphins, like the NFL team.”
The gorilla snorted. “There’s a football team called the Dolphins? How lame is your universe?”
“I’m a Miami Manatees fan,” the bartender proclaimed. “I’ve even
got season tickets.”
“So jealous,” said the gorilla.
Jimmy started freaking out. He’d read all those one-star reviews. Dolphins seemed hypersensitive and perpetually offended. After the controversy around that audiobook, Muffy had sent out a memo warning everybody to be super careful not to offend any more dolphins. If he went in there and started kicking porpoise butt, Mr. Stranger would get even more bad reviews! Jimmy would never get his job back. He’d be like . . . extra fired.
“Oh crap. Oh crap. What’ve I done? We gotta go.”
Only, while Jimmy had been distracted talking to the bouncer, his mob had grown restless, stolen a city bus, and were in the process of driving it toward the front door really fast.
“Stop! Stop!” Jimmy jumped up and down, waving his arms. “Noooo!”
Only the driver couldn’t hear him over the roar of the engine. “This is for you, Jimmy the Intern! To Valhalla shiny and chrome!”
Luckily, the gorilla had reflexes befitting a mighty silverback, and he scooped up Jimmy and the bartender, and leapt out of the way right before impact. The cinderblock wall exploded into fragments as the bus flipped end over end through the dolphin bar. The mob ran through the smoking breach, eager to put boot to blowhole.
The gorilla bouncer lifted his head as debris rained down around them. “Aw, come on!”
“Trust me, dude, the version of you on my home planet got it way worse,” Jimmy said.
The gorilla groaned. “I am soooo gonna get fired for this.”
“You and me both!” Though, technically, he was already fired. Causing an interdimensional incident was like the cherry on top of today’s poop sundae. However, Wendell was still missing, so Jimmy still had a job to do. Did rogue TV detectives ever give up just because they accidentally caused a post-apocalyptic maniac to steal a bus and crash it through a bar full of dolphins? Not that he knew of! To hell with the consequences!
“Cover me! I’m going in!” Jimmy sprang to his feet and ran for the hole.
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