CHAPTER 15
THE 'B' TEAM
One finds many companions for food and drink, but in a serious business a man's companions are very few.
- Theognis
Twig could hardly believe it. Melberg had supposedly seen to it that their own vehicle was the fastest available on this pitifully primitive world; yet their powerful new Mercedes was clearly overmatched by Bates' decrepit old Chevy Nitro! They had underestimated Bates again!
The game was far from over, however. Once out of sight, the fugitives changed highways and directions several times, maneuvers that would have evaded most Earthly means of pursuit. Renson tracked them through detection of the residual cloud of Ca vapors that trailed after the fleeing Nitro. His cyborg-body was equipped with chemical detection and analysis abilities that could identify Ca molecular concentrations of less than one part in trillions. Though a faint breeze led the Ra to take several wrong turns, resulting in time consuming back-tracking and search patterns to regain the trail, the Ra gradually closed in on Bates and his companions.
As the Nitro sat in the car wash exit and Bates considered where they should go next, Milo suddenly started barking, and Bates' indecision was rudely jolted by the abrupt appearance of a jet black Mercedes blocking their forward path. Somehow avoiding total panic, Bates quickly backed the Nitro towards another exit, tires squealing.
Meanwhile, Renson leapt from the Mercedes and resumed his cheetah-fast foot pursuit. As the Nitro tore out onto the street, its roaring engine spewing clouds of exhaust, and its spinning, screeching tires stripping hot rubber, the bounding Ca'Ra grasped a rear door handle with a steel clawed hand. Moments later the cyborg's other hand effortlessly smashed through the door's window, and he started to pull himself into the back-seat of the speeding auto, head first towards Barns, who cowered in the arms of his equally horrified nurse.
Barns and Renson were suddenly locked eye to eye, faces scant inches apart, with the Ca’Ra snarling red, snake-like tongue flitting expectantly over cold white fangs, and the un-breathing human’s eyes round with terror. For how long they remained thus, it could not be said. Temporally, it may have been only a fraction of a second, but for Barns time froze, as each of them, killer and pray, knew and realized, in that moment, that death had arrived.
The next moment, Renson was gone. To the occupants of the Nitro, some of whom were at that moment praying for divine intervention, it looked as though Renson had indeed been miraculously sucked back out the window by some unseen, providential force.
The actual cause was not immediately apparent. Later observation would determine that the rear door handle grasped by the Ca'Ra, which like most of the car was well rusted, had simply given away as the Nitro swerved and erupted down the street. Through the trailing cloud of exhaust smoke and burning rubber, tumbling Renson looked like an aggregation of discarded trash to Bates as he glanced at his rear-view mirror.
Still gathering speed, the roaring Nitro fairly flew up the access ramp and onto the nearby beltway. The Mercedes picked up Renson immediately and again gave rapid pursuit, but the Nitro was soon out of sight once again, leaving Twig seething and cursing in a very foreign tongue.
In the Nitro none of the shell-shocked humans said a word for a long time. It had been a very close call. Much too close. Bates continued to recklessly weave the roaring Nitro through the light evening traffic at breakneck speed long after they had lost sight of the Mercedes.
Finally Mel looked down at the speedometer. "Holy smokes Narb, slow down!”
Bates paid no attention; he seemed to be on 'automatic pilot'. Mel had to repeat himself and shake his friend's shoulder several times before he responded. "Huh?" he asked.
"Slow down, Bates,” implored Mel, “you're destroying the engine.”
Though solidly built and strengthened by Carbuncle, the Nitro simply wasn't designed for such heavy doses of Premium Fuel. The engine sounded unusually noisy, but appeared to be functioning well enough until they slowed down significantly. The car immediately started to knock, buck and further lose power.
Much of the lost motive energy expenditure seemed to now be transformed to noise. "My God, Mel, listen to that engine!” shouted Bates over the din. "They'll get us for sure now!”
Mel tried to calm down his friend. "Don't worry, Narb, we lost them miles ago. We got clean away.”
"Oh yeah?" said Jane, who was still clutching a wide eyed Barns tightly. "How did they find us back there at the car wash?”
Narb glanced at Mel, and realization hit them both. "She's right," said Bates, "how did they find us?” Nobody had an answer to that question.
"Well," reasoned Bates, "the important point is that they can probably find us again!”
"So what are we going to do?" asked Jane.
Mel twisted around to look back at his wife. "Well, the first thing that I would recommend is that you let Dr. Barns breathe."
Jane abruptly realized that she had been squeezing her patient in a choke hold for all she was worth ever since Renson crashed through the window. Though Barns had occasional thoughts of eventually dying in the arms of a beautiful woman, this wasn't exactly what he had in mind. As Jane released her grip and examined Dr. Barns, his eyes were wide and his face was blue, but he gasped lustily for breath.
"This poor man should be in a hospital," she said.
Bates shook his head resolutely. "No way! That's too obvious a place for them to search.”
"What?" shouted Mel. It was becoming increasingly difficult to carry on a conversation through the noise of the ailing Nitro.
"We need a new vehicle," said Bates, shouting back.
"And help!” added Jane.
"We need to figure out what to do about the Ra. And I still need to get to Arizona, fast!” added Bates. “I’ve missed my airline flight!”
"I just need some food and rest," moaned a revived but still very weak Dr. Barns.
"Row-e-ral, Row-e-ral," added Milo, after astutely recognizing that it was his turn to complain.
Jane fished some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from the supplies she had brought, and fed them to Mel, Bates, a very grateful Dr. Barns, and a joyful, waggle-tailed Milo. In the constricted quarters, Milo's tail was often swatting Bates in the face and sandwich, but he didn't much care. At least one of his friends was definitely happy. Too bad all of their problems couldn't be solved with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
"I've got it!” exclaimed Mel, who had been distracted for a few moments by the discovery that he and Milo were at one point eating opposite ends of the same sandwich. "Oscar has a really BIG car!”
Of course, thought Bates, a man his size had to! Oscar still had that big old Buick. Low powered, it wasn’t a muscle car like the Nitro, but it would be faster than walking. "Try to raise him on the VISICOM," he instructed Mel.
Mel spent the next few minutes shouting into Jane's VISICOM. Over the sound of the failing car engine, Bates couldn't catch enough of the conversation to make any sense of it. Milo's yammering didn't help communications much either. The dog was obviously hoping for more peanut butter, jelly, and sweet sticky jelly-soaked bread. Jane was obviously beautiful and talented in many ways, but she didn't seem to know that jelly and bread needed to be separated by a layer of jelly-proof substance of some sort: usually peanut butter.
Finally, Mel turned to Bates and shouted in his ear over the noise of the failing Nitro. "Narb, do you know the Shady Grove Bar?”
"Sure," shouted back Bates. "The trick to that place is that it’s nowhere near Shady Grove. What's going on there?”
"Oscar says his car broke down in Georgetown and he's been walking home for hours," replied Mel.
"The poor man!” said Jane, sympathetically.
"Poor us!" noted Bates. "It looks like his car isn't available."
"Well, he apparently plans on making the most of it," continued Mel. "He says we should meet him at the Shady Grove Bar in a few minutes.”
"Hokey Smokes!” exclai
med Bates. "The Shady Grove? Ask him how many bars he's been to since he started walking!”
In a minute Mel had the answer. "He says seven. Is that bad?”
It was a larger number than Bates was hoping to hear about. "It's not too good. He's done this before; once last month when I was with him. It took me days to recover. I think it's why he keeps that car. It breaks down every couple months or so, then he uses the VISICOM directory to route himself to every bar along his path home. He drinks at least a pitcher of beer at each bar."
"I'm not an expert fellas, but isn't that a lot of beer even for a man his size?" asked Jane.
"Yup," replied Bates. "It is. I'm afraid that Dr. Oscomb is rip-roaring plastered by now.”
There followed a spirited discussion on the various merits and disadvantages of adding a 170 kilo, drunk-as-a-skunk biologist to their already intimate little group. In the end the spirit of friendship won out over practical considerations, and Bates directed the ailing Nitro towards the Shady Grove, which as fortune would have it, happened to be very close by. Afraid that if he turned it off it might never re-start, Bates left the Nitro idling and ran into the cozy little neighborhood bar. Judging from the large number of cars parked outside, the place was very cozy tonight.
Bates rushed back out in a minute or two brandishing two six-packs of beer.
"What's this for?" asked Mel, as Bates hopped back into the car and handed the cold Bud to him.
"Bait," replied Bates as he gently coaxed the suffering Nitro for a short distance down the street before again stopping. "We beat Oscar here. We've got to catch him before he goes in, or we'll have a heck of a time getting him back out."
"Why, Bates?" asked Jane. "After all, he got out of several other bars tonight OK."
"Several reasons," explained Bates. "First and most important, this bar has the cheapest beer around. Taken at face value that would mean that he would want to drink at least two pitchers of beer. Second, it has dancers. That means at least three pitchers of beer. Possibly enough to totally do the man in for the night."
"Dancers? What kind of dancers?" interjected Mel.
"You know Mel, entertainment! Scantily clad females that wiggle about enticingly.”
Jane and Mel both looked back towards the tiny bar, incredulous. "You're kidding! In that little joint?" asked Jane.
"Yup. Extremely scanty clad," said Bates, with a wistful glint in his eyes. "But the clincher is this. I'm sure that the bartender recognized me when he handed me the six-packs, from when Oscar and I were in there last month. I think he's probably already calling the cops."
"Why, Bates?" asked Mel.
Bates hesitated before replying. "Don't ask. Well actually I'm not exactly sure. I was pretty drunk at the time, but Oscar told me later that we participated in a row of some sort, over a dancer or something. He told me the owner was all upset, and swore he'd never serve any more scientists in his bar. Anyway, where is Oscomb? He should be approaching from the South.” He pointed down the street.
Sure enough, marching heartily over the next rise towards them was the enormous figure of their favorite Ph.D. in Biology, Oscar Oscomb. Even over the clanks and bangs of the ailing Nitro, the astonished passengers soon heard Jingle Bells being sung in a rich, tremendously loud, operatic base voice. The words were slurred.
Bates did a U-turn and pulled up alongside Oscar, who was so thoroughly and happily occupied with the joyous acts of singing and walking on a crisp, lovely Maryland evening that he did not notice them at first, despite the clatter of the Nitro. Mel's shouting and Milo's barking finally got his attention though, and he stepped over to the car as Bates brought it to a stop.
"Mel!” boomed Oscar. "What-ya doing here, lil' buddy? Oh yeah, that's right, weren't we supposed to meet in the Shady Woods? Well, let's get to it man! The night's a-wasting! Oh hey, is that Bates? And Milo? This is great! I'll bet that brunette you like is dancing there again Bates, if she's recovered.” He did a double-take when he looked in the back seat and discovered a beautiful blonde already in residence. "Mel! You brought Jane with you to a strip joint? That's wildly progressive of you two! Say, who's that old guy she's making out with in the back seat?"
Oscar must have been confused by the extremely close proximity of the two riders in the back seat. In fact, though the Nitro was considered to be a large car for its day, it would be impossible for two people not to be fairly close together in the rear of a Nitro. Barns was half asleep and slumped comfortably against the buxom Mrs. Guthery.
"Oooh my Gawd! It's Doc Barns!” exclaimed Oscomb. "I figured he'd dump that old bat Twig, but hell's bells, Mel, I would'na figured him'n your Jane, not in a hundred years! Shit! Not in a trillion years!”
"Come on Mel!” Oscomb opened Mel's car door and extracted the thin little physicist bodily out of the Nitro, as Milo retreated to the back seat to lay atop Barns/Jane, and Bates grabbed the beer from Mel. "Let’s go get us a drink buddy. Plenty of cheap Shady Trees ale in the pub right down this very street. You must need one almost bad as me. Who-da-hell would‘a thought that your Jane would be taking up with old Barns!” Shaking his great, shaggy, bearded head, he started down the street again with one gigantic arm wrapped around Mel's thin shoulders. Mel offered token resistance, but Oscar didn't even seem to notice.
"Wait a minute Oscar, look here," cried Bates, as he dangled a six-pack in the Nitro's doorway. "Nice cold Bud my friend, just the way you like it!”
Oscar let go of Mel and started back towards the car. "Is that all you got Bates, just one little six-pack?”
"No," replied Bates, "don't be silly! Look, we have more!” He dangled the second six-pack in front of Oscar also, and then pulled all the beer back inside and out of Oscar's immediate reach. "Come on with us in the nice warm car," Bates implored.
Oscar was already chugging down the first can as he squeezed his massive bulk into the front passenger seat of the car. It was an extremely tight fit, even after the seat was slid back all the way, much to the consternation of the rear occupants. The car simply wasn't designed for triple sized people; Oscar ended up cranking down his window all the way to make room for his massive right arm and shoulder.
But it was still not as bad as the back seat, which, having only just come to terms with the addition of Milo, now had to accommodate Mel as well. They had to direct various arms, legs and heads out windows or over seat backs, but somehow they managed. Actually, Bates felt rather fortunate to have Jane's warm foot under his right ear. At least he thought it was Jane's. Soon the Nitro was laboriously moving again.
"But where will we go now Bates?” Said a muffled voice from the back. It sounded like Mel, but from a very great distance.
"Damned if I know," shouted Bates in reply. "I've really got to get to Arizona, but first we probably need a bus to comfortably move this bunch.” And with that, Bates launched into a quick brief of the situation for Oscar, focusing on the asteroid, the pursuing space aliens, and the Government cover-up.
When Bates finished, Oscomb, who had been pleasantly quiet while he chugged down his brews, suddenly came back to life. "EEE-HA!” he yelled. Then he shook himself, stretched as far as he could, and breathed deeply, as though to shake off some of the effects of the beer through effort of will. At last his thunderous voice resumed. "Better. OK, boss, let's get to it!”
"You have an idea about what to do?" asked Bates.
"Sure!” replied Oscar. "Well hell, man, to start with, we already got us an experimental vehicle that's bigger than this one! A damned fast one, too!”
"Watch it Oscomb!” shouted the muffled voice. "This isn't secure space!”
"Space? Did you say 'space' Guthery?" retorted Oscar, laughing. "So what the hell! Boil me in oil, because I said 'vehicle,' but then you had to go and say 'space'? Ha! Who's saying the no-no words now?”
What they could be talking about, Bates didn't have a clue.
Oscar paused long enough to finish can number six and grab the second six-pack
. "Anyways Mel, all seriouslessness aside, what do-ya think? Come on; use that famous noggin of yours. I'm still too damned drunk to figure out everything!"
The conversation hung suspended for a moment in the crowded, noisy, windy Nitro, as Mel apparently thought about it, and somehow crawled up through the tangle of bodies so that the three of them could converse by means of only moderate shouting. "I think you are right my big drunk friend." said Mel, at last. "Bates, if you can get us as far as the Base, I think it's about time we formally induct you into the B-Team."
"The B-Team? What the heck is that?" asked Bates.
"Well, replied Mel, it’s a select team of dedicated professionals that care about this country, and this planet.”
"Aw hell Mel," interjected Oscar, "never mind the formal sounding la-la-la bull! The B-Team is me and Mel and some others, and you too, as far as I'm concerned. Government men and some women too. Knights of an old beat-up square table, that's what we Government men are. G-men. And you gotta be made a full-fledged member now."
"And Jane and Barns too!” piped up Mel.
"Oh sure," conceded Oscomb, following a loud burp.
"Wrowerl, Wrowerl," yammered Milo, sensing something momentous in the moment.
"And Milo too!” added Bates. "We're a package deal.”
"Sure," said Oscar. "Why not? Needed us a dog anyways! We're it! We're all it! The B-team! Government men, women, and their furry friends, smelly though they may be! So let's see now, we got us a week or so to take on some space aliens, possibly the rest of the U.S. Government, and a giant asteroid that's about to clobber the Earth. Nothing to it! Not for the B-Team; not for Government men!”
He said it with such confidence and bravado that Bates was greatly encouraged. They all laughed. The whole little company was taken up with Oscomb's enthusiasm; the B-Team would take care of everything!
"But what does the 'B' stand for?" asked Jane, innocently.
"Damn good question beautiful lady!” responded Oscar.
"And one I'm afraid we can't answer, dear," injected Mel, "because it's tip-top-secret. Right Oscar?”
"Oh poppy cock!” responded Oscar. "If humanity will be extinct in a week or so what the hell's the difference? What's the big deal about not keeping a damn top-secret DOD project secret if it's going to be destroyed so damn soon anyway?"
Mel had no logical counter for that, but he always felt more comfortable following the rules. You simply weren't supposed to talk about top-secret matters unless you were inside the proper corresponding vault. That would be breaking the rules.
"So let's see now;” continued Oscar, “the 'B' couldn't stand for 'boss' or for 'Bates' or 'Barns', cuz just look at their faces, they don't know what the heck it is. And it doesn't stand for 'boondoggles', cuz unfortunately we just don't have the funding for those anymore. Since it's a tip-top Government secret, and to make Mel happy, let me just say the secret word only once and ve-ry softly. Friends, countrymen, lend me your ears.” Several of the company leaned towards him, or attempted to under the impossibly crowded and chaotic conditions, in order to receive the secret word. "Well teammates, it stands for BUS!” shouted Oscar at the top of his lungs. Then he laughed heartily. “B-U-S BUS!”
"Bus?" asked Bates, disappointed. "It just stands for bus? This top-secret project is a bus? Hokey Smokes!” He sighed. For a minute there, he had been thinking of the B-Team as a tough gang like the CIA, or the GI Joes, or something else equally deadly: a competent commando group with a cache of secret weapons and mysterious psychic powers perhaps, that actually could take on space aliens and plunging planetoids, like any legitimate, genuine batch of Saturday morning cartoon super heroes. He had forgotten for the moment that of all the DOD, only their own pathetic Base remained: his own colleagues, a few aging scientists and engineers. Nerds, not heroes. Oh yeah, and a bus.
A bus development project certainly explained the experiments they had him perform using his Nitro. It all fit together now. Norma, Oscar, Mel and Hank were the dreaded B-Team, and they were trying to build a Premium Fuel powered bus. The intent was probably to make the planet even more 'green' than it was now and make the tree-hugging leftists that were in charge of the Government even happier. Big fat hairy deal, thought Bates! So now the bunch of them were going to turn their attentions from bus development for a few days to do some planet saving? Oscar and Mel at least hadn't lost their sense of humor. On the other hand, Bates didn't have a better plan.
Oscar seemed a little miffed at Bates' sudden lack of enthusiasm. "Well, you did ask for a bus, right?" said Oscar. "So we'll go to the Base and get the Bus and the rest of the B-Team!” He gave Bates a playful and painful poke in the ribs and chugged down the last of the beer. "Don't worry Bates; the B-Team will take care of things! And remember folks: ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country!"
"Well personally, I always felt that JFK had that one backwards," piped up Mel. "I mean, it flies in the face of 'by and for the People', doesn't it?"
"Damned if you aren't right!” agreed Oscar, after a few moments of beer-sluggished thought. “Mel, you and Lincoln have it all figured right, I’d say.”
"And Kennedy thought about it some more too and fixed it during his second term," noted Bates.
"I've got several issues of that ilk," claimed Mel. "One of my favorites is the use of 'spring forward and fall back' to set our clocks for daylight savings time. Now doesn't 'spring back and fall forward' make just as much sense?"
"Damn, you’re right again!” agreed Oscar. "Myself, I always prefer to fall forward, regardless of season, if I’m falling down drunk, so that I can catch myself without banging my head. But I've got another one. What about the wrong people calling themselves 'people of color' when they don't have no color? Anybody with even high school science knows that white is the brain's response to multiple wavelengths and black is a complete absence of light and color."
"Sure, that one always bothered me too!" agreed Mel. "And what about when folks say that something is ten times less than something else? Don't they know the difference between multiplication and division? Why don't they say that something is a tenth as much as something else?"
"That's a good one too!" responded Oscar. "And what about those zero calorie so-called energy drinks? That's always good for a chuckle."
"All of those demonstrate criminally ignorant science knowledge and resulting absurd misuses of language," agreed Mel.
"Guys, guys!” interjected Bates. “This is all fascinating, but right now we have to focus on a mission to save the Earth!”
"And save it we will," boasted Oscar. "After all, we're Government men.” He broke into a rousing round of inspirational songs then, starting with 'Stout Hearted Men' while Milo, trying to help out, added some howling of his own. However, the words of the big man were slurred and scrambled and gradually becoming utter nonsense, and his voice was gradually losing its robust inspirational flavor. After running out of beer, big Oscar was finally running out of steam.
While it lasted though, the loud singing and howling at least helped inspire Bates to drive towards the Base at the top speed at which the ailing Nitro was still capable, which unfortunately was down to only about 50 KM/hr. The normal traffic was whizzing by them now, and Bates was afraid that the cops would stop them for driving too slow, or worse yet, that the Ra would catch them. As Oscar quieted down the Nitro got noisier, and Mel pulled Jane's VISICOM deep into the rear seat's tangle of sound absorbing bodies to make some COM-calls to the other B-Team members before dozing off.
Thankfully, Oscar because he was blissfully drunk, and Milo because he was both ignorant and sensible, also soon fell asleep, despite the noise and the cold and cramped accommodations. Hardly had Oscar stopped singing when the thunderous sound of his snoring was added to the din. Jane and Barns hadn't been heard from for a long time. Hopefully they too were usefully occupied somewhere deep in the tangle of bodies in the back seat.
Driving
kept Bates awake. And worry. Could this group actually be the best hope that the world had? It was a sobering thought; that and the fact that they were all out of beer, and Oscomb was the only one of them that had gotten any.
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