Teenage Mutant Ninja Torpedoes

by David J. Wighton

  The female genes kicked in automatically. A male hand was waiting for her. The target was in sight. So what if she had to pretend to need his help? He would believe holding hands had been his idea. Dreamer stumbled a bit trying to step over the clump of dirt blocking her, and then attached herself to the offered hand.

  Another set of reflexes comes into play at this point in the dance. The female will act in such a way that her prey will be unable to escape. After she has captured the hand, the male's response to this dance step is for him to display his manliness until another ploy presents itself that will allow him to escape. You may ask, Escape from what? I would reply – escape from the female death grip. Let me describe this in more detail for those readers who are using this book as a how-to manual.

  As a novice hand-holder, Dreamer latched onto Wizard's hand as though she were falling from a great height and only a death grip on that hand could save her. Wizard immediately flinched in pain. The female death grip is well known in male circles because it has the pressure equivalent to a rock-crusher. But in the face of such a grip, the male is not allowed to show any fear or even awareness that the blood in his hand is being cut off and gangrene could set in by the time they reach the top of the hill.

  Wizard performed admirably. Dreamer was not even aware that his fingers were sticking out of her grip at weird angles and that the tips of his fingers were now white. Women experience childbirth; men experience the female death grip. Males will tell you that the two produce similar pain. Women will laugh in your face at that outlandish notion. But, that's another dance. For now, the reader only has to realize that Wizard was struggling up a hill that caused him and Dreamer to slide down one step for every two that they took, and this was supposed to be enjoyable and it had been his idea. For the life of him, Wizard couldn't think of a single excuse that would allow him to extricate his hand from the iron grip of a novice hand-holder. "Oh, look. An angel!" That wasn't going to cut it.

  When they reached the top, both of them paused to pant and catch their breath. That meant that both of them could bend over, put their hands on their knees and pretend to have enjoyed the climb.

  "That was fun," Wizard said while he was trying to shake blood down to his fingers without her seeing it.

  "Yes, it was," Dreamer said, looking down at her own hand and wondering why it felt so tired.

  Once hands have touched, it is much more natural for hands to touch again. But both dancers know instinctively that time is ticking. For the female, if the male does not make a quick re-grab, that would mean that he hadn't enjoyed the experience. She would stew about this for the next hour, totally oblivious to whatever the male was saying to her. Did her breath smell? Was her hand sticky? Did she have something in her teeth? Was the perspiration dripping down inside her clothes going to appear somewhere visible to him? Was she too fat? Too thin? Did she forget that she wasn't supposed to beat him up the hill? The list goes on. In the interests of saving a few electronic trees, I will stop with those few examples.

  For the male, the grab reflex is still in play. He must make sure that the prey does not escape, even if that prey crippled him for life. Wizard proved adroit at this stage of his own capture. "What's that over there?" he asked. Then he stepped aside to let her go first, and carefully enclosed the unused female hand within the gentle grip of his other hand – the one that wasn't still throbbing. It didn't matter that what he had asked her to describe was a bunch of trees. Second contact had been made. Wizard and Dreamer were now at the hand holding stage of their relationship and both of them thought that this was great.

  Back to the Table of Contents

  Chapter 34

  On Tuesday, October 30, 2083, Wolf and Izzy TiTr'd to St. John's, Newfoundland and landed there on March 16, 2083. From Signal Hill, they followed Mac as she went to Edinburgh, Meigle, and then eventually to London. At this point, Izzy told Wolf to get lost while she followed Mac forward in time until she found where Mac worked. It didn't take long. She had only worked at Mike's Pub and Izzy found her at a tiny desk in the pub's back hallway in present time – 11:24 a.m. on October 30, 2083. She watched Mac for a couple of minutes as she made entries in a stockroom inventory. Izzy decided that it would be best to reveal herself to Mac at her home, and so TiTr'd back to the previous evening and followed her to that home. She'd need to know where it was so that she could start Wolf on his quest. Then she TiTr'd back to when she had left the pub, watched Mac for another couple of minutes (hunting through the liquor storeroom in the basement now) and decided to play tourist.

  Izzy returned to the pub at 3:30. At 4 p.m., Mac went into a small changing room and came out in gray slacks, a white shirt, and a blue blazer. Izzy mind-messaged Wolf that Mac was working some sort of double shift and he could continue to play tourist. Izzy did the same.

  At 6:30, Izzy met up with Wolf above Westminster Abbey, one of the main landmarks in London. She took his time capsule and told him that he'd have a chance to prove that he could find Mac on his own, but there were certain rules.

  The time capsule would be waiting for him on Mac's small balcony. Since there were only thousands and thousands of these balconies in London, this information wasn't going to help Wolf find her. As soon as Mac left the place where she was working, Izzy would mind-message Wolf with the four corners of a reasonably large rectangle inside which Mac was living. She'd give him two hours to find Mac on his own. He'd have enough time to walk through the streets of that rectangle, but not enough time to ask people for help. He wasn't allowed to find Mac by using his pinky ring to locate Izzy's brain-plug. Then, the two left to do more touristing. Izzy had a whole shopping bag of pamphlets and brochures that she had collected earlier and she still had some sites that she wanted to see.

  At 10 p.m., Izzy returned to the pub and slipped invisibly into a corner by the ceiling. Mac was circulating among the guests as the official greeter. But if she ever heard heated voices, she would be there to coordinate the efforts of the two burly bouncers and to step in herself as necessary. Her job was to control the women – a task she had to assume twice that night. The pub was in a seamy part of London and it was rowdy right up to closing time at midnight.

  Wolf, Mac's leaving work now. Your search area is within these four crossroads. A501 highway to the north, A5200 highway to the east, Theobalds Road to the south, and A4200 highway to the west.

  Ten minutes later, Izzy was peering through the window of an eighth floor apartment. Mac was stepping out of her shoes and pulling off her earrings. Izzy put Wolf's time capsule down on the wooden floor of Mac's balcony, kept her invisibility mode on, pushed a cardboard sign through the baffles, and rapped it against the window pane. It's Izzy. You're safe. Open the window?

  # # # # # # # #

  Mac opened the window quickly enough, but kept her mouth closed in a tight line when Izzy flew into the one bedroom apartment, removed her invisibility, and looked around. In London, a one bedroom apartment meant precisely that. One bedroom and absolutely nothing else. Mac had a decent size closet and bureau, a single bed with a duvet and several nice pillows. That was it. The washroom was down the hall. In response to an arched eyebrow, Mac said, "I eat and shower at work; I use this room only to sleep. Why are you here?"

  Izzy motioned to the bed. "Can I at least sit down?"

  "If you asked any of my friends or family any questions, no. Leave now. I was very explicit in telling you not to search for me."

  Izzy sat. Bounced a few times. Dropped her bag of brochures on the floor. "Nice mattress at least. We didn't ask a single question. None of your friends saw us. Nobody's life has been jeopardized."

  "We?"

  "Will mostly. Wolf some. I joined the operation at the very end. Will said that you might be more willing to talk to me, so that's why I'm here. You'd at least hear me out."

  "Finding me was impossible. It couldn't be done if you followed the rules."

  "For most people, that's true. But it wasn't going to stop Wol
f. He was walking up and down streets in Scottish and English cities looking for you. He would have worked his way down to London eventually. He claims that he would have found you."

  "Couldn't be done. Why'd he do that?"

  "Hard to say. Will on the other hand saw Wolf determined to find you and decided to help him before he died from exhaustion. So he invented a time-travel machine. That made it a lot easier."

  "No way. That's science fiction stuff. It doesn't happen in the real world."

  "I can prove it. Want to know something from your past or would you like to see the time capsule itself?"

  "A capsule can be faked. Tell me something about my past that you couldn't know."

  "Will gave me two things to tell you in case you didn't believe me. When you were young, before the family went to bed, you'd gather around the piano and sing. You'd all be in bed by about 9 p.m. Later, when the SODs were keeping you and your father captive on the base, your father used the blinds and drapes in your bedroom and in his bedroom to send you a message. You replied using the stones and figurines in the garden. Wolf knows about these two things too. "

  "What are SODs?"

  "Sven, Otto and Dieter. They've been stealing arms from the base. We can prove that. There's one more person in the conspiracy but Will can't find him. We thought you might know."

  "I do. The Quartermaster Sergeant in charge of all of the base's supplies and equipment. Nobody could steal from an army base without the Q knowing about it. You better tell me the long version."

  # # # # # # # #

  "Mac, I swear. I don't know anything about your life except what I've already told you. Will was the one who went through the surveillance data. If anything came up that could cause you embarrassment, he skipped through it. He knows some things that you might not want him to know, but this is Will! He's not going to tell anyone."

  "Will would tell you if you told him too."

  "Not any longer. We had a big blow-up."

  "Wow. Nobody could have seen that coming."

  "We have rules now about bossiness and keeping secrets. We're getting along great. I've told him that I'll marry him before my 18th birthday if he wants me to."

  "Gotta admit I didn't see that coming. Wolf?"

  "He refused to even go into your bedroom when they were searching your father's house. He couldn't stand to watch your wedding. If Will had to tell him something, and it involved you, he sanitized it. Mac, I swear on my grandmother's locket that Will didn't pry into your personal life any more than he had to and Wolf hardly knows anything." At that, Izzy raised the chain and locket she wore around her neck and said, "I swear."

  Mac put her hand around her own neck but felt nothing. "Did Wolf tell you what was in the envelope I left him?"

  "No."

  "Did Wolf watch me when I was a young teenager?"

  "No."

  "Does he know where I went after I left Saskatoon for the first time?"

  "Only that you went to Regina and found a job in a diner of some kind. A lady from Saskatoon saw you there and convinced you to go home."

  "You say the SODs are ripe for plucking?"

  "Yes. We know that your father was framed. He wasn't driving the car. Sven killed your mother with help from Otto and Dieter. We know that but can't prove it in a court of law. Wolf used time travel to follow the SODs around after the car accident. He knows where the blackmail material is hidden."

  "Do..."

  Mac paused when a noise interrupted her. It was a male voice coming from street level. It sang, "When I'm calling you" and then, it extended the "you" into a long warble, "oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo."

  "What the..." Mac went to the window and looked down. "It's Wolf."

  "When I'm calling you-oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo."

  "He's singing?" Izzy asked.

  "Sure sounds like it."

  "When I'm calling you-oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo."

  "Well Mac, he found you. All by himself. Wolf said that all he had to do was walk by a place that you had been recently, and he'd be able to trail you to your home. Why is he stopping? Is that all there is to the song?"

  "No. It's part of a duet that Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald sang ages and ages ago. My family sang it by our piano. One of my all-time favorites."

  "When I'm calling you-oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo."

  Another voice joined in. "Stop calling, she's not home. We're trying to sleep here."

  "It was our family's finale every night. I'd play the piano, my mom would sing the soprano, and my dad would sing the bass. They'd look at each other as they sang it and I knew for sure that they loved each other." Mac went to wipe away a tear but stopped when she saw Izzy looking. She turned around instead and accidentally brushed her cheek with a palm.

  "When I'm calling you-oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo."

  "What's the song called?"

  "Indian Love Call."

  "When I'm calling you-oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo."

  A deep voice. "I'm coming down if you don't knock that off."

  "I don't think I heard that right," Izzy said. "What's it called again?"

  "Indian Love Call."

  "Does that mean anything to you?"

  "A lot of good memories."

  "What's that first word in the song's title, Mac?"

  "Indian."

  "And Wolf is an..."

  Mac turned her head to the window.

  "Mac, for months Wolf was spending every possible minute he had walking the streets of England looking for you. He was losing weight. He looked terrible. He's crazy in love with you. He's singing a song to you. It's called Indian Love Song. It was your favorite song. Are you getting a picture here?"

  "When I'm calling you-oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo."

  "For Gawd's sake, lady. Pick up the phone." This from a soprano voice.

  "He won't feel the same way when he knows more about me," she said.

  "Why don't you let him make that decision?"

  "When I'm calling you-oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo."

  Mac went to the window and opened it completely. "Will you answer too-oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo?" she sang back.

  She had a lovely voice, Izzy thought. The song didn't make much sense, but nothing did about this adventure. Time-travel. Wolf with some form of finding powers. At that point, Wolf flew through the open window, dropped his invisibility and looked at Mac.

  "I didn't pry. I didn't peek. I didn't ask anyone you know questions. I found you without intruding into your life. I had this with me all the time," and Wolf brought out the army medal Mac had enclosed with her goodbye letter. "I believe it helped."

  Izzy was wondering if a kiss were coming soon. Indeed it was. A long kiss. Then, Mac undid a couple of Wolf's shirt buttons and turned to look behind her.

  "Izzy," she said.

  Izzy was staring at Wolf's face. He was gob-smacked. Gob being a face. Smacked as in being hit in the gob with the flat side of a shovel.

  "Izzy," Mac repeated.

  "Huh?"

  "Whenever I imagined what sex would be like my first time, I never did picture it happening with three people in the room."

  "Oh. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." Izzy was frantically picking up her bag full of brochures that promptly fell out of the bag. "Oh my God. Sorry. Oh my God. Sorry. Oh my God."

  Wolf's shirt was half off. "We'll be back in the compound in a couple of days," Mac said.

  "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." The apologies trailed off into the distance, reversed for a moment and the window slammed shut.

  "What was that noise," Wolf asked, coming out of his gob-smackedness long enough to realize who he held in his arms.

  "Now I know our love will come true," Mac sang.

  "You'll belong to me, I'll belong to you," Wolf finished the song.

  Back to the Table of Contents

  Chapter 35

  Friday afternoon, November 2 and base business was winding down for the weekend. The quartermaster warehouse was almost deserted. Q was
doing his normal security check to ensure that everything was locked down tight.

  "Q," a voice whispered from between two big crates.

  He turned towards a voice that sounded familiar. "Mac. You're back?"

  "Just for a short visit, Q. I need your help."

  "Anything. You know that."

  Mac explained in whispers how she and the general were mounting a little operation Saturday night at midnight. It wasn't a big deal; a covert op; hush-hush; just checking if everyone was on their toes. Could she get a couple of flash grenades from the stores? "All flash, no crash," she specified.

  "Full strength?" Q asked.

  "Wouldn't be much of a security check otherwise," Mac replied.

  # # # # # # # #

  At 10:30 p.m., three almost invisible figures approached the general's house. They paused at the back corner for one final check of their equipment as Special Forces personnel had been trained to do. Everything was operating properly. The whisper microphones on their headsets – check; audio reception – check; the night goggles were working but they would soon be discarded. They'd be useless in the event that something like a flash grenade went off around them. Sven thought it was quite appropriate that Mac and the general would be on the receiving end of the same kind of attack that they were planning for him and his buds. Only he would attack first. Like Mac had done in the war games before they were married.

  "Reconnaissance – go," Sven instructed.

  Otto and Dieter slipped to the front of the house. The shades were drawn in the living room, as they always were. However they could see the outline of the general sitting in his chair. Probably reading. The fact that he was still up at 10:30 p.m. confirmed Q's information. He and Mac were waiting for everyone on the base to be asleep before gearing up. "Target acquired," Otto whispered.

  Sven had slipped to the rear of the house – specifically to the kitchen window where a light was indicating someone's presence inside. He pushed his night goggles onto his forehead, pulled a scope out of a gear pocket, and raised the lens so that it was slightly above the bottom of the window. Mac was wiping down a counter, her back to the window. As he watched, she pulled a broom out of the broom closet and began sweeping the floor. She was in a long blue bathrobe, a big white turbaned towel wrapped about her head. White, floppy slippers on her feet. "Target acquired," Sven whispered. "Entry positions," he instructed.