Last week as you recall, Dr. Smith had been tasked with the undesirable job of playing host at the feeding of what seemed to be hundreds of seven to nine year-old's.
 |
| -=fig. 516: at the dinner table=- |
Jeeves had scrounged up what he could, but the food supplies were mysteriously low.
This was odd, because the pantry seemed to go on forever.
It's just that it was…empty.
Dr. Smith stood, knocking his chair over in the process.
"Attention." It wasn't the sort of weaselly 'attention's you get at say, town hall meetings, but more a…command. But spoken without a commanding tone. As it turned out, it was quite effective.
Cutlery clattered to the plates, some with food still attached.
Dr. Smith spoke;
"This is the last bit of food we have in the house. With the City under siege, I don't know how easy it will be to acquire more. There is always the tunnels, but I would rather not head back to the basement. The streets are filled with the sort of men that had the house hostage, that is to say, Frenchmen, and there is no door on the roof, but I am willing to hear alternate modes of escape." They all started talking at once. "Quiet!" Dr. Smith said, with an exclamation point, so that it was obvious that he was serious. "One at a time. Raise your hand." Capt. Brown raised his hand, and, without waiting to be called on, continued. "What about that magical Door that can go anywhere?"
Dr. Smith had obviously thought of this, "Impossible to control, and it only works one way. Once you're there, you're there. Next?" A child raised his hand. "You seem smart, why not just invent something that kills all the bad guys and be done with it?"
"The Closest thing I have ready is this bomb that uses atoms, it's effective, certainly, but it would kill us all. Next."
"We could fly out, there's no ceiling."
"There is, it's the ground wrapped around like a Möbius Strip. Next."
"Why not just use the back door?"
Dr. Smith was about to dismiss this idea out of hand when he realized that it wasn't a half-bad idea.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Andrew, sir."
The boy was the Picture of Dr. Smith at that age, uncomfortable, quiet, and short. He even had a little Bow-tie which no doubt never quite fit.
"The sir is completely unwarranted." Dr. Smith had taken a liking to the boy.
"Alright, Sir." Andrew said, glumly. He was worried that he had offended Dr. Smith, somehow. Rightly too, for Dr. Smith's default tone was that of irritation, not that Dr. Smith had noticed.
Having just stolen Capt. Brown's food when he was distracted, Teresa had a question for Dr. Smith. "Zacha–" Dr. Smith interrupted her. "Dr. Smith"
Teresa was confused.
"He gets to call you by your name." She gestured at Capt. Brown.
Dr. Smith replied. "He's my friend."
Capt. Brown leaned toward Teresa conspiratorially, "He has a very defined sense of friend, I've known him almost his entire life, So I qualify. Don't take it personally."
Teresa Shuddered to clear her head of the extreme sanity that was Dr. Smith's mind, and continued with her question. "Alright, regardless, my question is: Why can't we hear gunfire?" She was of course referring to the bedlam that is main street Legopolis:
"Because we're half a dimension away from anywhere. I'm done eating." He hadn't touched his meal "I'm going out, to see about more food. Goodbye."
Teresa looked at Capt. Brown, "Is he always that brusque?"
"Yes."
As much as Dr. Smith loved his house, he was glad to be out.
He had never been good at…people. Machines were better.
Machines didn't call you 'brusque' behind your back.
The air was fresh, shame about the gunpowder smell.
From the other side of the house Dr. Smith could hear the traditional sounds of war, gunfire, screams of pain and…cheering? There also seemed to be a man selling hot turkey legs and cups commemorating the big battle.
Dr. Smith had to hand it to the street merchants of Legopolis, they were tenacious.
Buying a hot turkey leg would put him too much in the open, although if bystanders were purchasing them how dangerous could it be?
Then he re-thought that statement, in light of the screams.
Besides, the grocery store was only a couple of blocks away.
Unfortunately, those couple of blocks were swarming with the worst sort of villains.
Foreign Villains.
He would have to do it, secretly.
This was odd, because the pantry seemed to go on forever.
It's just that it was…empty.
Dr. Smith stood, knocking his chair over in the process.
"Attention." It wasn't the sort of weaselly 'attention's you get at say, town hall meetings, but more a…command. But spoken without a commanding tone. As it turned out, it was quite effective.
Cutlery clattered to the plates, some with food still attached.
Dr. Smith spoke;
"This is the last bit of food we have in the house. With the City under siege, I don't know how easy it will be to acquire more. There is always the tunnels, but I would rather not head back to the basement. The streets are filled with the sort of men that had the house hostage, that is to say, Frenchmen, and there is no door on the roof, but I am willing to hear alternate modes of escape." They all started talking at once. "Quiet!" Dr. Smith said, with an exclamation point, so that it was obvious that he was serious. "One at a time. Raise your hand." Capt. Brown raised his hand, and, without waiting to be called on, continued. "What about that magical Door that can go anywhere?"
Dr. Smith had obviously thought of this, "Impossible to control, and it only works one way. Once you're there, you're there. Next?" A child raised his hand. "You seem smart, why not just invent something that kills all the bad guys and be done with it?"
"The Closest thing I have ready is this bomb that uses atoms, it's effective, certainly, but it would kill us all. Next."
"We could fly out, there's no ceiling."
"There is, it's the ground wrapped around like a Möbius Strip. Next."
"Why not just use the back door?"
Dr. Smith was about to dismiss this idea out of hand when he realized that it wasn't a half-bad idea.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Andrew, sir."
 |
| -=fig. 517: andrew=- |
The boy was the Picture of Dr. Smith at that age, uncomfortable, quiet, and short. He even had a little Bow-tie which no doubt never quite fit.
"The sir is completely unwarranted." Dr. Smith had taken a liking to the boy.
"Alright, Sir." Andrew said, glumly. He was worried that he had offended Dr. Smith, somehow. Rightly too, for Dr. Smith's default tone was that of irritation, not that Dr. Smith had noticed.
Having just stolen Capt. Brown's food when he was distracted, Teresa had a question for Dr. Smith. "Zacha–" Dr. Smith interrupted her. "Dr. Smith"
Teresa was confused.
"He gets to call you by your name." She gestured at Capt. Brown.
Dr. Smith replied. "He's my friend."
Capt. Brown leaned toward Teresa conspiratorially, "He has a very defined sense of friend, I've known him almost his entire life, So I qualify. Don't take it personally."
Teresa Shuddered to clear her head of the extreme sanity that was Dr. Smith's mind, and continued with her question. "Alright, regardless, my question is: Why can't we hear gunfire?" She was of course referring to the bedlam that is main street Legopolis:
 |
| -=fig. 518: bedlam, with a side of mustard=- |
Teresa looked at Capt. Brown, "Is he always that brusque?"
"Yes."
-=-
 |
| -=fig. 519: the back door=- |
As much as Dr. Smith loved his house, he was glad to be out.
He had never been good at…people. Machines were better.
Machines didn't call you 'brusque' behind your back.
The air was fresh, shame about the gunpowder smell.
From the other side of the house Dr. Smith could hear the traditional sounds of war, gunfire, screams of pain and…cheering? There also seemed to be a man selling hot turkey legs and cups commemorating the big battle.
Dr. Smith had to hand it to the street merchants of Legopolis, they were tenacious.
Buying a hot turkey leg would put him too much in the open, although if bystanders were purchasing them how dangerous could it be?
Then he re-thought that statement, in light of the screams.
Besides, the grocery store was only a couple of blocks away.
Unfortunately, those couple of blocks were swarming with the worst sort of villains.
Foreign Villains.
He would have to do it, secretly.
-=Best Regards=-
-=-=-=-=-=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Sir Jacob D. Fredrickson Esq.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Chief Executive Officer of Early Bird Industries, Inc.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
-=-
