Peter "Devil" Tamorelli was born for something. He was a tall man, with a jagged jaw bearing indestructible stubble, even under the might of the fiercest razor. His hair naturally curled upwards, spiking itself by the time he got out of the shower each morning. Regardless, he always added a good dollop of gel to make sure it was ready for anything, just like him. He liked to dress well, in the newest and classiest blazers and sport coats, but sometimes his job required him to wear outfits of a more skin-tight variety.
It wasn't always a man knew he was doing what he was born to do, and Peter Tamorelli--whose nickname comes not only from his preternaturally-spiked hair, but also because he was born at six in the morning on June sixth--was ever grateful. Sometimes he climbed rocks! Once rocks climbed him, but only thanks to the mad experiments of the demented doctor Ludvig von Shmeirenstein.
He was born for something, and it was to jump out of an airplane with a suit letting him soar like the majestic flying squirrel, dropping straight into an active volcano in search of the Prime Minister of England's daughter, being held captive by either the foul lavakin, looking for their revenge against Peter and his partner, or Duke Infernus, the disgraced Italian ruler, who became obsessed with fire after his wife and family burned to death in their hot tub.
The man next to Peter was Oliver "Thing" Estrada. Oliver was a short, densely packed person who never backed down from anything, not even a man running around with scissors. Fresh-shaved save a small moustache, with thinning hair and a look on his face daring you to comment on it. Desiring a simpler look, he normally only dressed in jeans and a tight t-shirt, but now he was ready for action.
He tenderly touched the scar on his left shoulder, which he acquired from the Mad Cutter, who's modus operandi was running around with scissors. A deep thinker, Oliver now stared into the blue blazes around the sun, over the cloud line. I'll be falling soon, he told himself, as if to reassure himself, he was still doing what he was meant to do. My chance to spit on a bird while it flies is at hand!
His nickname came from a few sources. The first was, when asked what his favorite was--favorite anything--he didn't have a clear answer. The second was, since everybody had to have a nickname thanks to an HR meeting involving famous man-of-action Coolio "Maximum" Dudely, Oliver was eventually given a placeholder nickname which ended up sticking.
They sat quietly in the plane, waiting for the right moment. Peter was reading a book titled "What to do About All the Bugs," and Oliver was looking out the window. The door they would shortly jump out was across the interior from them. Seats lined the sides of the plane, but there was no such thing as a flight attendant present. They were required to fetch their own drinks.
At the front of the plane, a screen flickered to life and a woman's face appeared on it. Neither of the men were paying much attention to their surroundings. The plane was large enough, when the woman called their names, neither heard her. The woman, who had blonde hair pulled into a braid and a smart blue business suit, huffed, and the screen shut off. A moment later she emerged from the front of the plane through a door and strode up to the men.
"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked them, and they finally realized she was asking for their attention.
"Not at all ma'am!" Oliver said, standing and barely gaining any height. He kicked Peter's shin, and the other man shot up after checking the place in his book. They both held salutes until the woman nodded curtly. There was not but seriousness on her face.
"Okay you two, try to keep from blasting off before we're done talking here," the woman, whose name was Stella Kleintorbogen, put her heels together and her hands behind her back. "The Prime Minister's daughter is still alive, as long as whoever's got her has kept his, her, their, or its end of the bargain. We still have twenty-four hours before he/she/they/it demanded the money be delivered. Your mission--I know we went over this before, but it's always good to have a reminder--is to retrieve her unharmed. I don't want a repeat of that Burger King incident."
"In our defense ma'am," Oliver said, "we couldn't have known going in that it was really a McDonalds."
"The fact that you were served a McDouble, and not a flame-grilled double patty burger, should have tipped you off," Stella said. She sighed. "Your point of entry is the top of the mountain, where there should be a platform available for you to land. I shouldn't have to tell you that missing the platform will result in instant and painful death."
"That's good to know, ma'am," Peter said. "Always good to know the dangers of a given operation."
"It is, Tamorelli. The Prime Minister's daughter should be somewhere within the volcano's structure. The...yes, what is it, Mr. Estrada?"
"Ma'am, the heat of a volcano is great enough that even entering its spout is enough to cook us alive. How will we survive?"
Peter glanced sideways at his friend, confused. Stella blinked. "It's never been that way before. You'll be fine. It's just like when Fransisca "Spicy" Arquette and Missy "User Error" Stevenson beat Offenstro. They glided into a volcano. Are you going to let them be better than you?"
"No ma'am!" both men said in unison, male pride flooding their bodies.
"Those're my boys," Stella said. "As I was saying, the volcano's cave-system is complicated, roundabout, and, in my opinion, sort of stupid. You'll have to bumble your way through its many trap-filled zones to find the place the prime minister's daughter is being held."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, ma'am!" Oliver said.
"Ma'am, what is the calculated probability of this becoming something much more than a simple rescue mission?" Peter asked.
"I'm glad you asked." Stella reached around her and brought in a easel set on wheels, seemingly from nowhere. "As you can see in figure one," she said, flipping the sheet on the easel over and revealing a graph with a jagged line, trending downward, "world-threatening events have been down over the last two quarters. In the last two months it was only Space-King Ultimos that threatened the world at large. Luckily, no one was hurt, thanks to Cory "In Da House" Emetts and Susan "Not the Actress" Sarandon. Now, as you know, the speculation laid down by a number of researchers, the chance of a world-threatening event is increased with each subsequent world-threatening event, given a set amount of time. Thanks to the lessening number of these events, the lab boys have calculated an approximate ten percent chance of this become something much greater."
"Can you give us the exact number?" Peter asked.
"It's also ten percent." Stella flipped the sheet, revealing another graph with a similarly-jagged line, this one trending up. "However, I had the boys run a different scenario for just the two of you. You've been together a little over a year, isn't that right?" Both men nodded. "I've been a handler for a good amount of time, boys, and I can tell you that personal problems both always exist, and have a habit of appearing after the honeymoon period, so to speak." She pointed at a line on the graph. "You're right here, and as you can see, the chance of this mission revealing something devastating and/or dangerous to the mission is near to reaching what Dr. Duchovny has called the 'Personnel-Relations Asymptote,' a silly name for something that is certainly no laughing matter. It means that the chance of something appearing from one of your pasts and endangering the mission nears one hundred percent as time goes on, getting ever closer but never reaching one hundred itself."
"I had a girlfriend like that," Peter said.
"What are the odds, ma'am?" Oliver asked.
"Eighty percent. I trust that you'll take this into account as you navigate the treacherous volcanic cavern." Stella looked out the window. "Oh, looks like we missed the drop point." She went to the front and spoke through the door to the pilots. "They're bringing us around again. Are you ready?"
"Ready and willing, ma'am!" Peter said, saluting once more. He adjusted the crotch of his wing suit. "I've always wanted to jump out of a plane without a parachute into a volcano."
"As have we all, Tamorelli," Stella said. "Estrada?"
"Ma'am!"
"I expect you to ensure Tamorelli remains careful during this mission, which I understand is like asking a tiger to make sure a lion doesn't eat all this fresh meat, but I make do with what I have."
"I get hungry just thinking about it, ma'am!"
"That's what I want to hear." She checked out the window, then pulled the door open, allowing fierce, whipping winds into the interior of the plane. "Almost missed it again!" she screamed over the wind. "Go!"
Peter and Oliver both rushed forward, jumping from the plane moments before it exploded. The volcano belched continuous heat and smoke into the sky, a large spout glowing with the energy of the lava. The two men spread their arms and legs and slowed, catching the currents and soaring along the sky instead of straight down. It was almost a leisurely fall, and both men took the chance to relax. The sun was warm, the sky and ocean water around the volcanic island was crystal-clear blue, and the jungle foliage looked inviting and pleasant.
Eventually they angled themselves into the open mouth of the volcano, braving the heat and making their way toward the ledge Stella had remarked on. It was a cinematic ledge sticking out over the volcano's lava, and both men took the chance to strike heroic poses before continuing into the volcano itself.
Removing their wing suits, both men took a moment to double-check the weapons and gadgets held in pouches or on belts underneath the suit, over padded armor and tough clothes for the secret agent on-the-go. Once finished, both men wandered down the path from the ledge, inspecting the interior of the cave. It was smooth, but still craggy in a way they both admired. Clearly, this was a villain with a sense of style.
"Ma'am said the path will be complicated," Peter said. "Should we split up to cover more ground?"
Oliver shook his head. "Remember what else she said. If we split up, one of us might run into an old friend, or a lover, and that old friend or lover just happens to betray us to whomever we're on our way to foil."
"I've always called you the smart one of the two. But if we stay together, couldn't someone for both of us appear, then?"
"Hmm." Oliver rubbed his chin. "I hadn't thought of that. I wish we had a way to ask the boys in the lab about our odds."
"It would make things simpler in some cases. You remember that time we had to figure out which twin was the evil twin?"
"Of course! Just what I was thinking about. And then we found that there were all those other twins that each had an evil side. What a mess. At least I got to finally use my degree in statistics."
"And I my degree in Figuring out Which Twin is Evil. Still, it would have been helpful to have someone to talk to. Oh, we're in a room," Peter realized.
They were, in fact. It wasn't the largest of rooms, but the volcanic-rock walls were smooth and shapely. Within the room stood a young man with short-cropped brown hair, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and black tie. When Peter and Oliver looked at him, he grinned and gave a small wave, twiddling his fingers. He carried a clipboard.
Stepping up to the duo, he greeted them with handshakes. "Afternoon, gentlemen, my name is Christopher. Welcome to Volcanic Isle #62, otherwise known as Isla de Extraño. I've been asked to conduct a survey on your experience here at Isla de Extraño, but usually this is the path that people take to exit the island."
"Come again?" Peter asked.
"Most people coming to the island are dropped somewhere in the jungle, fight their way through the volcano, and then deploy chutes that utilize the thermal currents that take them into the air, where they are snatched by a special type of airplane that scoops them inside. I suppose I could pose a few questions while you're here," Christopher said. He flipped a page on the clipboard. "Here we are. On your way to the Isla de Extraño, were you able to identify it from its distinct appearance, or was it easily confused for other, similar volcanic islands? On a scale of one to ten."
Peter rubbed his chin, relishing the scrape of his stubble. "Difficult to say. We actually missed it the first time and had to bring the plane around. We were being briefed at the time." Oliver nodded in agreement.
"I'll put you down as a five. Next question..." Christopher flipped another page. "How would you rate the heat of the volcano during your passage through it? With one being 'unnoticeable,' and ten being 'unbearable.'"
"You know, we discussed this on the plane," Oliver said. "Shouldn't the heat be enough to cook us alive before we even got close?"
Christopher seemed confused. "I-I'm sorry?"
"You know: convection." Oliver continued. "The air above the lava should be several hundred degrees hotter than the human body can stand, not to mention containing ash, or even toxic gases."
"I-I'm not sure I understand," Christopher said. "Are you saying the volcano was too hot?"
"No, it wasn't, and that's the problem. Just being in the air over it should make us fairly uncomfortable, not to mention being inside the interior of the volcano itself. I'm saying we should be dead."
Christopher, suddenly out of his league, turned his head. Peter and Oliver followed, and they found a sign reading: "The temperature of the volcanic lava is currently:"
Underneath it was a digital readout like a clock, showing: "89 degrees." Underneath was a sign reading "Thank you for visiting the Isla de Extraño."
"Ah, well, that explains that," Oliver said, smiling. "It shouldn't affect us much when it's only that warm. I'd say it was a five."
"A four for myself," Peter added. "I could use it a bit warmer."
Christopher nodded, back in his element. He scribbled on his clipboard. "Okay, one last question I think I can ask you. Er, how was the weather you encountered on your way to the Isla de Extraño? Better than you might like? Worse? Explain."
"I think since we just started the mission, a nice clear day was just right," Oliver said. "A bit later in the day--you know, with a sundown--I suppose I would have enjoyed that but you can't really do anything about that now can you?"
"We could, sir," Christopher said. "We're working on a device."
"Wonderful things, devices," Peter said. "I use them often. Yes, I think the beginning of the mission needs calmer weather, referencing our in-and-out goals. Once things go to pot as they so often do, then stormier weather is more appropriate."
Christopher nodded, scribbling quickly. "That's all I have at the moment," he said. "Thank you gentlemen. I hope you enjoy your time at the Isla de Extraño. May you be successful!"
"Thank you Christopher. Wonderful day!" Oliver called over his shoulder. "What a nice young man. He reminds me of my nephew."
"It's always pleasant to see today's youth doing their part," Peter said, nodding. "Where are we off to next?"
"Well, we're here." Oliver pointed at the star stuck to the map of the volcanic interior, bolted to the wall of the tunnel. "It looks like the command center is here, but the boss' office is here. Where do you think the prime minister's daughter is being held?"
"Good question. Could be the holding cells," Peter said, indicating the spot on the map. "Hope it isn't though, that's quite a distance to go. It could be either of those other places. More likely the boss' room, since there's no plan to tell her, down to the final detail, so she wouldn't be in the command center."
"Yes, that makes sense." Peter traced a path through the volcano's twisting caverns. "Let's try that place first, then. Here we are, this seems to be the fastest route. There are some trap-rooms along the way."
"I hope they're better than the last trap-rooms we saw. Just a bunch of pits with spikes and tigers and snakes in them, in varying quantities."
"It's been a positive experience so far. Who says that won't continue?"
Peter nodded. "Whoever's running this establishment seems to know how things are supposed to work. Shall we?"
They found the first fork, and Oliver directed them down its left path, which brought them deeper into the volcano. For a few minutes, the only sounds were their steps. Eventually, a bit of mildly Caribbean-themed muzak was introduced, and they continued the walk being reminded of a mission taking place mostly on the beaches of Tobago, though Peter did spend a portion of the trip inside a cage with a lion.
After a few minutes they found their way to the first trap room, moments after passing a sign which said "Please watch your step."
"All right." Peter exhaled sharply. "What's the situation?"
"It looks like a big chessboard," Oliver said. "No pieces."
"Are we the pieces?" Peter asked. "It looks like some of the spaces are pressure plates."
"Perhaps the pieces are off for cleaning." Oliver went up to the board and peered closely. "They're all pressure plates! And there's no way around. We're going to have to walk over it."
"Seems rather unfair to have them all be pressure plates," Peter said. "No chance for us to succeed! Unsporting, I say."
"Well..." Oliver touched one of the closest plates with a finger, then pressed on it. It didn't move. "The first two rows are inactive at the moment," he said after a bit of searching. "Traditionally, that's where the player's pieces begin."
"Yes Oliver, I'm aware," Peter said, joining Oliver on the board. "What do you think we're supposed to do?"
Oliver ruminated for a time. "I think we'll have to follow a pattern. I suspect that a certain plate beyond the first two rows are safe, and once we step on that platform it will only be forward-going for us. The tiles behind will become active, and another tile will be our next destination."
"So where do we start?"
"Not a pawn. That would be too easy. Just a straight shot. Same with the king. The rook, queen, and bishop have too far a range to expect us to reach every possible safe tile."
"That leaves the horsey," Peter said, pointing to the spots the knights begin.
"Correct." Oliver looked at the two spots. "But which." After a moment, he nodded. "Either." He stepped on the rightward knight spot, and the pressure plate activated. It sank an inch. Oliver inspected the board around him. "But what moves? The plates all look the same. Falkbeer Counter-Gambit?" he asked out loud. "Scotch game? Veresov attack?"
"Perhaps Babashov's runner?" Peter said from the safety of the volcanic rock.
"No, that begins with the bishop. The Overland route? Phillip whiskey? Nimzowitsch?" Oliver stood staring. "Well, it's probably Reti one way or the other." He leapt, making a jump two spaces up and one to the left. The plate depressed, and the original plate lifted back to its starting spot. "But now where to go next? Peter?"
"Dunno." Peter said. "I'll have a look around the room." He turned, taking in the area. He spotted something irregular about one of the walls and walked closer as Oliver jumped again, nearly loosing his balance but regaining it on the correct plate.
Peter rubbed the pleasantly-warm rock with his hands, and found what seemed to be a small latch or clasp. He released it, and a section of the wall folded down to reveal a mini-bar, stocked with bottles, glasses, ice, fruit, and assorted snacks. "Hey! There are drinks over here!" he called.
"Busy!"
Peter inspected the label on a bottle of vodka. "Good stuff, too. You want anything?"
"Can you make one of those things with the bourbon and lime?"
"I don't see any bourbon," Peter called over his shoulder, as Oliver made another leap. He was getting closer to the other side of the board. "How about an absolute stress?"
"That's fine!"
"Let's see. Rum, vodka, peach schnapps...It was cranberry and what else?"
"Orange!"
"Ah, that's right," Peter muttered, mixing the drink. He tasted it. "A bit more schnapps." He added the final piece, then nodded. "I could use some of that as well." He made another identical drink, dropped a few dollars in the jar labeled "tips," closed the bar, and took the drinks to the giant chess board. Oliver made one last leap and landed on the other side, sinking to his knees in exhaustion. As soon as the last pressure plate detected he was through, every one of the plates sank into the ground. Peter walked across the board casually, handing one of the drinks to Oliver.
"Smashing job," Peter said, sipping his absolute stress. "Well done."
"Much obliged," Oliver panted, drinking. "Oh, that's just what I needed. This is quite the de-luxe lair."
"Isn't it, though?" Peter looked around for a place to set their glasses. "We should just carry them with us, I suppose."
"Well we aren't going to just leave them on the ground!" Oliver said, recovering from the fatigue the trap had forced on him. "Let's continue."
"Let's."
The next section they walked through was smoother stone, made almost into a square hallway. A few bubble lights in the rock above them provided theatrical illumination in dense circles. Oliver sucked on the ice. "How was your drink?" Peter asked. Oliver nodded in approval. "A bit too fruity for me. Peach, orange, cranberry, and a cherry once it's mixed?" Peter shrugged. "Ah well, beggars can't be choosers, I suppose," he said, sipping at the last bits of the alcohol he'd found in a volcano. "Another trap room up ahead?"
"That's right," Oliver responded. "I'll let you take first crack at the next one."
"Sounds fair." They walked for a time. "Have you thought about what you're going to bring to the potluck next week?"
"A little. The Carimañolas I brought last year were a hit but they took so much work. I was thinking something a bit simpler. You?"
"I found an interesting recipe that's sort of scrambled eggs with paprika and a few other spices, sort of like deviled eggs but you don't need a special tray to hold them."
"Sounds tasty."
"I thought so."
"Are we lost?"
"Yes, I believe we are," Peter said. "Perhaps the map we saw earlier was out of date. We've gone through a number of paths that I didn't recognize."
"Well, the volcano does have three dimensions. Perhaps they found it difficult to accurately represent its twists and turns on a map that is only two dimensions."
"That might be true," Peter said, as they rounded a corner. They both looked on in confusion. "I certainly don't remember this on the map."
In front of them was a double-swing door, as one might see between the serving area and the kitchen of a restaurant. A sign over the door read "cafeteria."
"It makes sense, I suppose," Oliver said. "Every lair needs a crew to run it. The crew needs a place to eat. Thus, we get this."
"Should we go back around, or..."
"No, I'm sure we'll be able to find our way going through here. Besides, we got lost once, going back doesn't help that. I think we should just-"
He pushed one of the double-doors open, and found a large, brightly-lit room on the other side. It was full of long tables with attached benches, and the benches were full of men and women eating and talking, filling the room with the buzz of conversation. At first confused as to which direction they should navigate through the large area, Peter then spotted a door upon a walkway along the right wall. They nodded and took a step.
"Excuse me," a large woman in a white outfit said. "Can't you read?"
She was pointing at a sign reading "No firearms."
"Oh, er, excuse us," Oliver said, unholstering his pistol. He nudged Peter to do the same. They double-checked the safeties, then placed them in the woman's hands.
"You can get them back once you're done eating," she admonished them in an unknown accent. "Not a moment sooner."
"But we aren't here to eat actually, just passing-"
"Hey!"
Peter, Oliver, and the woman looked. A man had stood, and was pointing at them. "Those two aren't from here! Get them!"
Every person within earshot reached for his or her belt, including Peter and Oliver. Finding their pistols missing, they looked at the woman.
"Oh no yeh don't!" she yelled. "None of that sort of thing in here thank you very much!" She became red-faced with alarming speed. "You'll settle your arguments like adults!" She stomped away and through a door, taking their pistols with her.
Peter and Oliver looked back at the crowd, which had grown, but realized they didn't have their weapons either. The uneven groups stood at a standstill.
The man who had spotted them originally grabbed a dinner roll from someone's tray. He held it like a man might hold a grenade. "Stay where you are!" he warned.
"Jump!" Peter said, pushing Oliver out of the way, their glasses smashing on the ground. They dove to the side as the roll sailed past them. They ended up behind one of the tables, next to a large garbage can. Oliver slid close and rummaged through it, coming up with a half-eaten chicken sandwich. He offered it to Peter. "Not hungry at the moment."
"Throw it."
"Oh, right." Peter grabbed the sandwich and whipped it in the direction of the instigator, nailing him in the throat. He went down, gurgling. Oliver handed him something else, and Peter stood. "All right everyone, stand back! I am not afraid to use this...mushy apple core!" The crowd took a step back. "Now we're just going to be on our way, nice and quiet like. No need to-"
"Get them!" someone yelled, and a head of lettuce struck Peter in the face.
Food was fired at them with incredible speed, and Peter dived under the table. Oliver tipped it one its side, shielding them. He pulled the garbage can close and tipped it as well, giving them ample supplies for the siege.
Peter risked a glance. "They've formed a barricade in front of the stairs up to the walkway. We'll have to get some major firepower to get through that." A juice box bounced over the table and landed at his feet. "Snipers on the walkway as well. A couple of heavy infantry coming at us. Plan?"
"Search me," Oliver said. "Fling garbage at them!" He got to his knee and his arm swung; Peter saw a woman get an orb of mashed potatoes in the hand, and go down. Peter grabbed an old pancake and threw it like a Frisbee, catching a man in the head. A terrible scream followed. "Would have liked to avoid a firefight."
"We can't always have what we want." Oliver primed a cup of yogurt and tossed it. The splash spilled over their table a small amount. A loud thud came from their table, and then a potato hit the wall in front of them. "Spuds!" Peter yelled. "They're bringing out the big guns already!"
"Then we'll need to up the ante before they have a chance," Oliver said, pointing at what was at the bottom of the garbage can.
"No!" Peter said. "I can't have that on my conscience! That must be a few days old! Why is there so much of it?!"
"Who's to say. All I know is it might have saved our lives. Come on, get as much as you can and aim for their people at the barricade." They both scuttled to the garbage can and pulled out as much ammo as they could carry--terrible, stinking armfuls each. "Ready?"
Peter nodded, and they stood, slinging two-day-old sushi from the bottom of the garbage as fast as they could.
When their supply ran dry, Oliver made a move to fetch more, but Peter stopped him, motioning joylessly at the battlefield.
Men weeped. One was lying in a puddle of his own vomit. The barricade was abandoned. A woman had sushi over her eyes, as if she was in a charming day spa and not a scene of horror.
They found one man who was lying on his back, staring at the distant ceiling, arm extended, fingers curling and uncurling repeatedly, as if to take some skyward prize. His lips moved quietly. Oliver hovered a hand over his face and prayed. Peter knelt by another woman and felt for a pulse.
"A reminder our job isn't all giant chessboards and volcanic mini-bars," Oliver whispered. He couldn't bear to look behind him as they climbed the stairs to the walkway. Only one of the snipers positioned there still moved. Peter went up to him; the man backed away frantically, wet tracks digging through the grime on his face. He shook his head, pleading, as Peter got closer.
"We're done here," Peter told the man. "We don't need to hurt anyone else. Tell us where the prime minister's daughter is." The man continued whimpering, turning his eyes away from Peter. "Hey." Peter shook him gently. Oliver handed him a clean towel, and Peter used it to wipe the man's face. "We want to end this. You can tell us."
The man was finally able to look at him. He trembled, jaw quivering. He slowly turned his head and spied a friend of his. The friend's arms hung limply over the edge of the walkway. The man started sobbing, and Peter took him in a hug. "'Salright," Peter said quietly. "It's over now. Go on, let it out. There's my boy. What's your name, kid?"
The man sniffed. "Elizabeth."
"Okay. E-...Elizabeth. Can you tell us where the prime minister's daughter is?" Elizabeth nodded. "Go on then. We'll be out of your hair."
"She's with the boss," Elizabeth sputtered. "Level eight, in the laser chamber."
"Roger. Thank you...Elizabeth. We'll let you be, now." Peter let the man go. He seemed to have fallen asleep. Peter nodded to Oliver. "Level eight. The 'laser chamber.'"
"I don't like the sound of that." Oliver stepped over the body and they made their way to the far door.
Pushing through it, they continued their way into the volcano. They both felt the heat rise.
"Any ideas what a 'laser chamber' could be?" Oliver asked, wiping his hands on his pants. "Sounds suspiciously similar to that mirror-maze evil Professor Blödername built. It took us weeks to get through it! And he was laughing at us the whole time..." Oliver trailed off and shook his head. "He probably could have just used a rifle and made things a lot easier on himself."
"We cannot fathom evil," Peter intoned, "for it is depthless. And, in our experience, kinda dumb."
"I hear that. Remember Italy?"
"Italy?" Peter tilted his head, eyebrows slamming together. "I don't! What happened?"
"For one thing, you got smashed on Zinfandel. For another, the Trio of Terror decided they would try to destroy the rock of Gibraltar"
"The rock of Gibraltar isn't anywhere near...oh. What did they end up destroying?"
"Just some reef. We went in a few minutes later and carted them off. Except you tried to read them their Miranda rights, couldn't remember them, gave up, and tried to hit on Emily Evil."
"Aw! No!" Peter frowned, but then seemed to reconsider. "She'd be very pretty if she cleaned off the face paint and did away with the piercings. Most of them, anyway." He shivered. "Did I really?"
"At least until she tried to bite you," Oliver said. "Look, an elevator. I bet that can take us to level eight."
In a moment they found themselves inside the elevator. Baby blue paneling and the same Caribbean muzak accompanied them as they rose. They heard a ding, and a panel above the door displayed the number eight. They exited, finding themselves in what appeared to be a hotel. Large windows overlooked the clear ocean and the lush forest spread out below them. Peter spotted a door; it opened onto a long hallway with a grand number of identical doors lining both walls. The far wall was a cloudy question barely answered.
"I suppose we start with the first door," Oliver said. "I'll take the ones on the right, you take the left."
"Classic," Peter replied. The first door he opened revealed a brick wall. Undaunted, he closed it and moved to the next. Oliver found what he at first believed was a mirror, but upon closer inspection turned out to be an exact copy of himself. They shook hands, chatted a bit, and then Oliver closed the door. Peter's next was a short hallway, shaped like an L. He found a teddy bear on a table at the end, but when he turned around to exit, found the same L-shaped hallway, as if he was back at the beginning. This hallway had an identical teddy bear. This pattern repeated for a few minutes, until Peter finally found a door once more, ejecting himself into the original hallway, carrying a dozen bears. Oliver waited.
"Anything?"
"No, nothing," Peter said, dropping the bears. Oliver's next door was a pathway to a small beach, over which the sun zoomed endlessly. By the time he closed the door, Oliver figured he must have watched it for two or three weeks. The next door showed a burnt-down house.
Peter opened one door, only for an arm--origin: unknown--to emerge from a black cloud and hand him a snickerdoodle. "Ah," Peter said. "Thanks." He told Oliver about the snickerdoodle-arm-door as he chewed.
"You get all the interesting doors," Oliver groused. He got his own cookie, and then Peter offered to switch sides. "No, that's all right. I'm bound to get something interesting."
His very next door was opened to reveal a man chained to the wall at the end of a narrow space. Seeing him, the man called out for help, stating he hadn't eaten for a week. Oliver closed the door and sighed.
They continued in this manner for the better part of an hour. When they reached the end of the hallway Oliver wore a lei around his neck, given to him by a lovely dark-skinned woman with four arms, and Peter was just finishing the ice cream he'd gotten from the door with a treat stand behind it. "You know," Peter said, crunching the cone, "the door at the very end of the hallway should have been our first try." Oliver opened the door.
"Where have you been?!" they heard a shout coming from the other end of the large room they found themselves in. With a high ceiling and far walls bearing hundreds and hundreds of small black protrusions, and an array of mirrors hanging in the air and around the room, it was certainly the laser chamber. A girl about fifteen, sitting sullenly, was in the center of the room. Her arms were folded and she was frowning.
The man had a criss-cross of scars over his face, an utter absence of hair above the neck, and two fingers on his right hand were made of jointed ruby. He grinned when he saw the two men. "So kind of you to keep me waiting! I expected you...over an hour ago!" he shouted. "What took you so long?"
"Maybe it was all the doors on our way to this one!" Oliver shouted. "How were we supposed to know which one was the right one?"
"Didn't you take a pamphlet?" the man shouted.
"Pamphlet?" Peter replied. "No, we didn't see one!"
"Bah, fine!" The man shook his fist. "Shall we get on with this?"
"After you!" Oliver shouted.
Slowly, building steam, the man gave a long, dark, gruesome laugh. "Action Duo! You've walked right into my trap!" His fist slammed down on the panel in front of him, and the door closed behind Peter and Oliver. "There's no escape now!" The small black protrusions all around the room switched on, firing red beams in all directions, bouncing and re-bouncing off the mirrors. "You've found the prime minister's daughter...but can you reach her? Aaaaaaaahahahahahahaha!"
"Well done!" Peter said, clapping. "Bravo!"
"Let's get on with it," Oliver urged. He took one step down, and his lei was sliced through by an errant beam. The ends, falling to the floor, burned slightly. Oliver frowned.
"He's not playing around," Peter said. He narrowed his eyes at the man in the back. "Hold on...isn't that-"
"It's true! I, Coolio "Maximum" Dudely, am behind the kidnapping!" He grinned. "Never saw that coming, eh?"
"Very unexpected!" Oliver said, ducking under the first laser. "I didn't know you'd switched sides. Did I miss the email?"
"I didn't get anything either!" Peter said, following him into the glowing fray. "HR must have really dropped the ball on that. We really need to be kept up-to-date on these things. Coolio! Did they at least bring in a cake? I know we weren't in the same department, but I would have liked to tell you it was an honor to work with you, before working against you!"
"I had a small gathering!" Coolio shouted back. "Cozy! And informal!"
"That's nice," Oliver said. "It's always good to be recognized for your contribution. But Coolio! How did you get such a cushy gig right away?" Oliver carefully stepped over a beam, and then sidled between two of them. "Don't you normally have to work up to those kind of spots? You know, put your time in the metaphorical or even literal villain-trenches?"
"Normally, yes! But I proved my worth, became the second-in-command, and then a...nasty accident occurred. An allergic reaction, I'm afraid!" Coolio laughed again. "Really very serious. He's in the hospital. Peanut allergies are nothing to laugh at."
"A shame!" Peter said. "I think you would have made a fine second! Tell your boss we said to get well soon." He slithered under two crossing beams.
"Kind of you to say! He'll be touched, I'm sure. I see you're navigating the laser chamber with ease!" Coolio laughed once more. "Time to heat things up a bit!" He spun a dial, and the lasers began to adjust themselves. With the many mirrors, it made for a red-hot maze in three dimensions of constant motion.
"Ingenious!" Oliver said, ducking out of the way of a beam, only to have another scrape along the end of his boot. "And deadly."
"I'll say!" Oliver looked at Peter. The man's shirt was burnt, and had a hole sliced through the middle. "Time for a bit of speed?"
Oliver nodded, and they both took off, running and diving through the air to avoid the many beams. Peter landed and rolled, finding one of them on its way to his very spot. He shifted quickly, letting it move past him, and then used the brief open area to go towards the girl in the middle. He collided with a glass pane unexpectedly, smashing his face and knocking himself down. A beam passed through where he had been standing a moment before. "First time I've ever been glad to run into a window," he muttered.
Oliver tried knocking down the mirrors but they were too solid. A beam passed over his head harmlessly, and he chuckled. He saw Peter going for the girl so he went for the back of the room and the safe spot where Coolio stood. A startling array of lasers blocked Oliver's path, but this was the man who'd taken first in the Pink Floyd dance competition four years in a row. He moved and spun, trying to keep track of the range of motion of all the beams at once.
Stumbling forward, he was immediately burnt from six sides, the beams glancing off his skin and making momentary sizzling sounds. It would have smelled good had he not known it was his own body cooking.
Peter tapped on the glass. The girl within, still pouting, glanced at him. "How do I get you out?" he asked. A beam from a nearby mirror clipped the tips of his horned hair, and he scowled at the follicles of hair drifting down.
The girl jerked her head in Coolio's direction. "He controls it," she said curtly.
"Are you all right?" Peter asked.
"No! He took my phone away!"
"I'll get it back," Peter puffed out his chest. "You can count on me." She had returned sitting on the floor with her arms crossed, watching the spinning lasers with boredom. Peter turned and, like Oliver, tried to figure out a way through the deadly beams. Like Oliver, he was hit by almost a dozen before figuring out the pattern.
Oliver reached Coolio "Maximum" Dudely first, and they engaged in combat. Coolio's Ruby fingers gave him an extra striking strength, which he used upside Oliver's head. Oliver recovered quickly and tackled the villain around the middle, knocking him down. He gave Coolio a punch in the stomach and then was thrown off. Peter joined them at the back of the room, hair smoking slightly. As Oliver tangled with Coolio, Peter went to the control panel Coolio had been using. None of the buttons were labeled, and it didn't look anything like the control panels he'd seen in the past, so he hit a button at random.
The lasers halted, seemed to shudder, and then started spinning wildly across the room. Peter dropped to the floor and a beam cut across where he'd been standing.
"You fool!" Coolio shouted. "You've put it into panic mode! We're all in danger now!"
"We were in danger before!" Peter shouted back. "This doesn't change our situation at all!"
Oliver hit Coolio in the throat. "Peter! Shut them off!"
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Peter replied, haphazardly pressing buttons and flipping switches. "None of these do anything!"
"Of course not!" Coolio yelled, coughing. "I only needed a few buttons to control the thing, so only a few of them are hooked up! You think I needed that whole thing just to run this entire room?"
"Maybe!" Peter hesitated. "So I just happened to hit the one button that sends it into panic mode?" He turned a dial, and the color of the lasers shifted hue to yellow. He played with it for a minute, ending on green. "Isn't that nice? Much easier on the eyes."
"PETER!"
"All right, all right." Peter peered close, trying to find any clue on how to manipulate the lasers. Meanwhile, Oliver continued wrestling with Coolio. At the moment, Coolio had him pinned and had his hands linked for a smashing attack at Coolio's face. A green beam cut through the air, and Oliver saw Coolio's face change from triumph to agony. He cupped his hand and screamed. Oliver pushed him off and held him down. The beam had sliced through the first two fingers on Coolio's left hand.
"It's not so bad," Oliver reassured the villain. "At least now you'll be symmetrical." Coolio thrashed under him. "And the wound's already cauterized."
The lasers shut off. The room seemed quieter, somehow. Peter went to Oliver and helped him haul Coolio to his feet. "Look. It's your start of darkness, right?" Oliver was saying. "You got your fingers cut off by one of your own lasers, and now you're out for blood."
"I'd already had two fingers cut off!" Coolio said unhappily.
"Yes, but that was for the good of the world. A red badge of courage," Peter said. "This was in the furthering of your own evil goals. Be a sport and tell me which of these things opens the young lady's cell?"
"It's the blue switch on the right."
"So it is," Peter said, hitting it. The heard a click, and the prime minister's daughter pushed open one of the glass panes. She walked to the back and held out her hand to Coolio, glaring. "Her phone."
"I don't have it with me," the villain said. "Why would I have it with me?"
"Why indeed," Peter replied. "So where is it?"
"I don't know...up in my office I think. Look, my hand really hurts. Can we get a move on? I feel quite dizzy."
"Yes, yes." Oliver looked at Peter. "What's our exit?"
"We use quick-release chutes and the rising thermals from the volcano to get into the air and we're picked up by a plane. Standard approach, we go back to base, debrief, and then it's scotch and soda at the bar before closing time." Peter looked at Coolio. "Bet you feel foolish."
"I'm rethinking a few life choices."
"Are you going to be upset if we don't recover your phone?" Oliver asked the prime minister's daughter. She nodded. "I think I remember how to get to the main offices from the map. We'll need to get back to the elevator."
Oliver walked with the prime minister's daughter as Peter hauled Coolio to his feet and made their way to the exit of the laser chamber. "What's your name, young lady?" Oliver asked.
"Lydia," the girl snarled.
"It's nice to meet you. My name's Oliver. Your father will be very happy to see you home safe and sound, I'm sure."
"I doubt it. I bet he didn't even want to pay the ransom."
The girl was upset, but this wasn't Oliver's first time rescuing a sour teen diplomat. "On the contrary. Not only did he ask for our expertise specifically, but he prepared the money in case the mission was a failure. He made us promise that not a hair on your head was harmed." Oliver saw several of Lydia's strands had been sliced through by the wild lasers. Their ends smoked slightly. "I'm sure it was rhetorical."
"He really said that?"
"Explicitly and implicitly. He'll be overjoyed to see you safe."
"Oh." Lydia seemed distraught. "I want to go home."
"We'll just fetch your phone and be on our way."
Behind them, Peter and Coolio were chatting, partially in an attempt to distract Coolio from the pain in his severed fingers, and partially to relive old times.
"I've never asked you how you lost your fingers. I mean...your other fingers." Peter coughed. "I mean, if you want to tell the tail, that is."
"Oh, these?" Coolio lifted his right hand. The ruby fingers flopped. "Not a very interesting story, I'm afraid. There I was, in the Alaskan wilderness. Two grizzly bears coming for me, enraged. All I had was a clown suit, a baseball glove, and two pounds of rock salt. The grizzlies-"
"Coolio, what level is your room on?" Oliver asked. The four of them stood in the elevator. "Ten?"
"Yes, ten. As I was saying, the grizzlies...hang on, that's a different story. Was it the thing in Africa with the were-panthers?" Coolio inspected the corners of his eyes, as if the answer could be found there. "Give me a moment."
"Here we are, level ten." Oliver said. It was a wide area like a waiting room, with double doors on the far wall. "Through there, I suspect."
"No, I remember. It wasn't the panthers or the grizzlies. I was-"
"It's locked," Oliver said. "Keys."
"In my pocket," Coolio told Peter, who began fishing them out. "Anyway, as I was saying, I was actually-"
"Where's the phone?" Oliver asked. "Tiger shark! They look a bit thin."
"They have to be, to ferociously devour any fool that tries to get me in my office," Coolio said, tapping his foot on the glass floor. "Level nine is their holding tank. I could introduce you if you like; they're very friendly."
"I want to go home."
"Lydia wants to go home, and I feel she has the say. The phone?"
"It's in one of my desk drawers. Not the bottom one--it's booby trapped. Where was I?"
"I don't know," Peter responded.
"Oh, well, long story short they got ripped off thanks to a too-tight bowling ball. Very painful. Before I even joined the team."
"Here you are," Oliver said, handing the phone to Lydia. She took it and immediately began deleting messages. "So what's the emergency?"
Coolio looked at him. "Sorry?"
"There's always an emergency at the end of these missions. The volcano's going to blow? Reactor going to blow?" Peter rubbed his face. "Locusts?"
"We don't have a volatile reactor, there are no locusts, and the volcano can't blow, it's an open crater. The worst it could do is have the lava rise to an unsafe level."
"Is that...happening?" Peter asked.
"No. But I suppose we could pretend?"
"What?" Lydia asked, confused. She was still deleting messages.
"I suppose that could work, given an absence of the real thing," Oliver said. "As practice, perhaps."
"Sounds like a plan. What say I give you...thirty seconds head start? Then I'll send the boys after you."
"Wonderful. Well Coolio, it's been nice talking. See to the fingers, will you? Have a wonderful day!" Peter socked Coolio in the chin, sending the man spinning into the room and onto the floor, groaning. "Off we go! Forgive my brusqueness, miss!" He picked Lydia up and threw her on his back. "To the elevator!"
Seconds after leaving the room, Coolio's voice came over the speaker. "All personnel! Indigo alert! Pretend to attempt to detain the men escaping with the prime minister's daughter!"
The got into the elevator and Oliver hit the button for the floor they'd originated from. When it opened, they found six men with guns pointed at them.
"'Stop' them!" one of the men shouted, and rattled his machine gun, making shooting noises with his mouth. The five other men joined in.
Oliver dove forward, coming up with his two index fingers pointed. "Bang bang!" he shouted, and two of the men theatrically cried out, slumping over. Peter came next, Lydia--rabidly confused--still on his back. He had one pistol-finger cupped, and drew a bead on the leader.
"Fft!" he said, and the leader fell quietly. Oliver dispatched the rest and they ran ahead, through the now-empty cafeteria. They recovered their proper pistols from the lunch lady, and made their way to the chess board, still unlocked. More men were coming after them, shouting things like "don't let them get away!" Or "stop them before the 'volcano blows'!" Oliver fired loosed a few "Bangs!" their way, and a few dropped.
They came up to the room where Christopher waited, and the escape halted. Peter and Oliver took a more extensive questionnaire while the men chasing them had a smoke. Lydia sat cross-legged on the floor with her phone. After a few minutes, Christopher wished them a good escape and stepped aside.
They ran to the volcano's mouth and, after shaking hands with the men pursuing them, released their chutes and were pulled upward by the lava's thermals. A plane scooped them gently, and Lydia found herself in audience with Stella Kleintorbogen.
"Well done. Anything to report?" she asked the men.
"Coolio "Maximum" Dudely was behind the kidnapping," Peter said. "He's doing well. Down two more fingers, but other than that seems to be getting along."
"Good, that's good. And you, miss Lydia? Are you hurt?"
"Everything was fine," Lydia said, still deleting messages.
"Say," Stella said, putting a finger to her lips. "Doesn't your father know Coolio rather well?"
"What?" Lydia whipped her head up to gaze at Stella. "No, or, I don't think so, no!" She stuffed her phone down her shirt.
"Oh well. Drinks, gentlemen? Something for Lydia as well."
"Another job well done!" Oliver said, drink in hand.
"I'll say!" Peter said. "I wouldn't mind a mission like that more often!" Lydia's phone buzzed, vibrating her shirt, but she didn't move to answer it.
Another successful mission for Action Duo! Tune in next time to hear The Emblem of the Egg! A small excerpt follows:
"What?" Oliver asked, throwing the penguin over the side of the building.
It wasn't always a man knew he was doing what he was born to do, and Peter Tamorelli--whose nickname comes not only from his preternaturally-spiked hair, but also because he was born at six in the morning on June sixth--was ever grateful. Sometimes he climbed rocks! Once rocks climbed him, but only thanks to the mad experiments of the demented doctor Ludvig von Shmeirenstein.
He was born for something, and it was to jump out of an airplane with a suit letting him soar like the majestic flying squirrel, dropping straight into an active volcano in search of the Prime Minister of England's daughter, being held captive by either the foul lavakin, looking for their revenge against Peter and his partner, or Duke Infernus, the disgraced Italian ruler, who became obsessed with fire after his wife and family burned to death in their hot tub.
The man next to Peter was Oliver "Thing" Estrada. Oliver was a short, densely packed person who never backed down from anything, not even a man running around with scissors. Fresh-shaved save a small moustache, with thinning hair and a look on his face daring you to comment on it. Desiring a simpler look, he normally only dressed in jeans and a tight t-shirt, but now he was ready for action.
He tenderly touched the scar on his left shoulder, which he acquired from the Mad Cutter, who's modus operandi was running around with scissors. A deep thinker, Oliver now stared into the blue blazes around the sun, over the cloud line. I'll be falling soon, he told himself, as if to reassure himself, he was still doing what he was meant to do. My chance to spit on a bird while it flies is at hand!
His nickname came from a few sources. The first was, when asked what his favorite was--favorite anything--he didn't have a clear answer. The second was, since everybody had to have a nickname thanks to an HR meeting involving famous man-of-action Coolio "Maximum" Dudely, Oliver was eventually given a placeholder nickname which ended up sticking.
They sat quietly in the plane, waiting for the right moment. Peter was reading a book titled "What to do About All the Bugs," and Oliver was looking out the window. The door they would shortly jump out was across the interior from them. Seats lined the sides of the plane, but there was no such thing as a flight attendant present. They were required to fetch their own drinks.
At the front of the plane, a screen flickered to life and a woman's face appeared on it. Neither of the men were paying much attention to their surroundings. The plane was large enough, when the woman called their names, neither heard her. The woman, who had blonde hair pulled into a braid and a smart blue business suit, huffed, and the screen shut off. A moment later she emerged from the front of the plane through a door and strode up to the men.
"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked them, and they finally realized she was asking for their attention.
"Not at all ma'am!" Oliver said, standing and barely gaining any height. He kicked Peter's shin, and the other man shot up after checking the place in his book. They both held salutes until the woman nodded curtly. There was not but seriousness on her face.
"Okay you two, try to keep from blasting off before we're done talking here," the woman, whose name was Stella Kleintorbogen, put her heels together and her hands behind her back. "The Prime Minister's daughter is still alive, as long as whoever's got her has kept his, her, their, or its end of the bargain. We still have twenty-four hours before he/she/they/it demanded the money be delivered. Your mission--I know we went over this before, but it's always good to have a reminder--is to retrieve her unharmed. I don't want a repeat of that Burger King incident."
"In our defense ma'am," Oliver said, "we couldn't have known going in that it was really a McDonalds."
"The fact that you were served a McDouble, and not a flame-grilled double patty burger, should have tipped you off," Stella said. She sighed. "Your point of entry is the top of the mountain, where there should be a platform available for you to land. I shouldn't have to tell you that missing the platform will result in instant and painful death."
"That's good to know, ma'am," Peter said. "Always good to know the dangers of a given operation."
"It is, Tamorelli. The Prime Minister's daughter should be somewhere within the volcano's structure. The...yes, what is it, Mr. Estrada?"
"Ma'am, the heat of a volcano is great enough that even entering its spout is enough to cook us alive. How will we survive?"
Peter glanced sideways at his friend, confused. Stella blinked. "It's never been that way before. You'll be fine. It's just like when Fransisca "Spicy" Arquette and Missy "User Error" Stevenson beat Offenstro. They glided into a volcano. Are you going to let them be better than you?"
"No ma'am!" both men said in unison, male pride flooding their bodies.
"Those're my boys," Stella said. "As I was saying, the volcano's cave-system is complicated, roundabout, and, in my opinion, sort of stupid. You'll have to bumble your way through its many trap-filled zones to find the place the prime minister's daughter is being held."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, ma'am!" Oliver said.
"Ma'am, what is the calculated probability of this becoming something much more than a simple rescue mission?" Peter asked.
"I'm glad you asked." Stella reached around her and brought in a easel set on wheels, seemingly from nowhere. "As you can see in figure one," she said, flipping the sheet on the easel over and revealing a graph with a jagged line, trending downward, "world-threatening events have been down over the last two quarters. In the last two months it was only Space-King Ultimos that threatened the world at large. Luckily, no one was hurt, thanks to Cory "In Da House" Emetts and Susan "Not the Actress" Sarandon. Now, as you know, the speculation laid down by a number of researchers, the chance of a world-threatening event is increased with each subsequent world-threatening event, given a set amount of time. Thanks to the lessening number of these events, the lab boys have calculated an approximate ten percent chance of this become something much greater."
"Can you give us the exact number?" Peter asked.
"It's also ten percent." Stella flipped the sheet, revealing another graph with a similarly-jagged line, this one trending up. "However, I had the boys run a different scenario for just the two of you. You've been together a little over a year, isn't that right?" Both men nodded. "I've been a handler for a good amount of time, boys, and I can tell you that personal problems both always exist, and have a habit of appearing after the honeymoon period, so to speak." She pointed at a line on the graph. "You're right here, and as you can see, the chance of this mission revealing something devastating and/or dangerous to the mission is near to reaching what Dr. Duchovny has called the 'Personnel-Relations Asymptote,' a silly name for something that is certainly no laughing matter. It means that the chance of something appearing from one of your pasts and endangering the mission nears one hundred percent as time goes on, getting ever closer but never reaching one hundred itself."
"I had a girlfriend like that," Peter said.
"What are the odds, ma'am?" Oliver asked.
"Eighty percent. I trust that you'll take this into account as you navigate the treacherous volcanic cavern." Stella looked out the window. "Oh, looks like we missed the drop point." She went to the front and spoke through the door to the pilots. "They're bringing us around again. Are you ready?"
"Ready and willing, ma'am!" Peter said, saluting once more. He adjusted the crotch of his wing suit. "I've always wanted to jump out of a plane without a parachute into a volcano."
"As have we all, Tamorelli," Stella said. "Estrada?"
"Ma'am!"
"I expect you to ensure Tamorelli remains careful during this mission, which I understand is like asking a tiger to make sure a lion doesn't eat all this fresh meat, but I make do with what I have."
"I get hungry just thinking about it, ma'am!"
"That's what I want to hear." She checked out the window, then pulled the door open, allowing fierce, whipping winds into the interior of the plane. "Almost missed it again!" she screamed over the wind. "Go!"
Peter and Oliver both rushed forward, jumping from the plane moments before it exploded. The volcano belched continuous heat and smoke into the sky, a large spout glowing with the energy of the lava. The two men spread their arms and legs and slowed, catching the currents and soaring along the sky instead of straight down. It was almost a leisurely fall, and both men took the chance to relax. The sun was warm, the sky and ocean water around the volcanic island was crystal-clear blue, and the jungle foliage looked inviting and pleasant.
Eventually they angled themselves into the open mouth of the volcano, braving the heat and making their way toward the ledge Stella had remarked on. It was a cinematic ledge sticking out over the volcano's lava, and both men took the chance to strike heroic poses before continuing into the volcano itself.
Removing their wing suits, both men took a moment to double-check the weapons and gadgets held in pouches or on belts underneath the suit, over padded armor and tough clothes for the secret agent on-the-go. Once finished, both men wandered down the path from the ledge, inspecting the interior of the cave. It was smooth, but still craggy in a way they both admired. Clearly, this was a villain with a sense of style.
"Ma'am said the path will be complicated," Peter said. "Should we split up to cover more ground?"
Oliver shook his head. "Remember what else she said. If we split up, one of us might run into an old friend, or a lover, and that old friend or lover just happens to betray us to whomever we're on our way to foil."
"I've always called you the smart one of the two. But if we stay together, couldn't someone for both of us appear, then?"
"Hmm." Oliver rubbed his chin. "I hadn't thought of that. I wish we had a way to ask the boys in the lab about our odds."
"It would make things simpler in some cases. You remember that time we had to figure out which twin was the evil twin?"
"Of course! Just what I was thinking about. And then we found that there were all those other twins that each had an evil side. What a mess. At least I got to finally use my degree in statistics."
"And I my degree in Figuring out Which Twin is Evil. Still, it would have been helpful to have someone to talk to. Oh, we're in a room," Peter realized.
They were, in fact. It wasn't the largest of rooms, but the volcanic-rock walls were smooth and shapely. Within the room stood a young man with short-cropped brown hair, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and black tie. When Peter and Oliver looked at him, he grinned and gave a small wave, twiddling his fingers. He carried a clipboard.
Stepping up to the duo, he greeted them with handshakes. "Afternoon, gentlemen, my name is Christopher. Welcome to Volcanic Isle #62, otherwise known as Isla de Extraño. I've been asked to conduct a survey on your experience here at Isla de Extraño, but usually this is the path that people take to exit the island."
"Come again?" Peter asked.
"Most people coming to the island are dropped somewhere in the jungle, fight their way through the volcano, and then deploy chutes that utilize the thermal currents that take them into the air, where they are snatched by a special type of airplane that scoops them inside. I suppose I could pose a few questions while you're here," Christopher said. He flipped a page on the clipboard. "Here we are. On your way to the Isla de Extraño, were you able to identify it from its distinct appearance, or was it easily confused for other, similar volcanic islands? On a scale of one to ten."
Peter rubbed his chin, relishing the scrape of his stubble. "Difficult to say. We actually missed it the first time and had to bring the plane around. We were being briefed at the time." Oliver nodded in agreement.
"I'll put you down as a five. Next question..." Christopher flipped another page. "How would you rate the heat of the volcano during your passage through it? With one being 'unnoticeable,' and ten being 'unbearable.'"
"You know, we discussed this on the plane," Oliver said. "Shouldn't the heat be enough to cook us alive before we even got close?"
Christopher seemed confused. "I-I'm sorry?"
"You know: convection." Oliver continued. "The air above the lava should be several hundred degrees hotter than the human body can stand, not to mention containing ash, or even toxic gases."
"I-I'm not sure I understand," Christopher said. "Are you saying the volcano was too hot?"
"No, it wasn't, and that's the problem. Just being in the air over it should make us fairly uncomfortable, not to mention being inside the interior of the volcano itself. I'm saying we should be dead."
Christopher, suddenly out of his league, turned his head. Peter and Oliver followed, and they found a sign reading: "The temperature of the volcanic lava is currently:"
Underneath it was a digital readout like a clock, showing: "89 degrees." Underneath was a sign reading "Thank you for visiting the Isla de Extraño."
"Ah, well, that explains that," Oliver said, smiling. "It shouldn't affect us much when it's only that warm. I'd say it was a five."
"A four for myself," Peter added. "I could use it a bit warmer."
Christopher nodded, back in his element. He scribbled on his clipboard. "Okay, one last question I think I can ask you. Er, how was the weather you encountered on your way to the Isla de Extraño? Better than you might like? Worse? Explain."
"I think since we just started the mission, a nice clear day was just right," Oliver said. "A bit later in the day--you know, with a sundown--I suppose I would have enjoyed that but you can't really do anything about that now can you?"
"We could, sir," Christopher said. "We're working on a device."
"Wonderful things, devices," Peter said. "I use them often. Yes, I think the beginning of the mission needs calmer weather, referencing our in-and-out goals. Once things go to pot as they so often do, then stormier weather is more appropriate."
Christopher nodded, scribbling quickly. "That's all I have at the moment," he said. "Thank you gentlemen. I hope you enjoy your time at the Isla de Extraño. May you be successful!"
"Thank you Christopher. Wonderful day!" Oliver called over his shoulder. "What a nice young man. He reminds me of my nephew."
"It's always pleasant to see today's youth doing their part," Peter said, nodding. "Where are we off to next?"
"Well, we're here." Oliver pointed at the star stuck to the map of the volcanic interior, bolted to the wall of the tunnel. "It looks like the command center is here, but the boss' office is here. Where do you think the prime minister's daughter is being held?"
"Good question. Could be the holding cells," Peter said, indicating the spot on the map. "Hope it isn't though, that's quite a distance to go. It could be either of those other places. More likely the boss' room, since there's no plan to tell her, down to the final detail, so she wouldn't be in the command center."
"Yes, that makes sense." Peter traced a path through the volcano's twisting caverns. "Let's try that place first, then. Here we are, this seems to be the fastest route. There are some trap-rooms along the way."
"I hope they're better than the last trap-rooms we saw. Just a bunch of pits with spikes and tigers and snakes in them, in varying quantities."
"It's been a positive experience so far. Who says that won't continue?"
Peter nodded. "Whoever's running this establishment seems to know how things are supposed to work. Shall we?"
They found the first fork, and Oliver directed them down its left path, which brought them deeper into the volcano. For a few minutes, the only sounds were their steps. Eventually, a bit of mildly Caribbean-themed muzak was introduced, and they continued the walk being reminded of a mission taking place mostly on the beaches of Tobago, though Peter did spend a portion of the trip inside a cage with a lion.
After a few minutes they found their way to the first trap room, moments after passing a sign which said "Please watch your step."
"All right." Peter exhaled sharply. "What's the situation?"
"It looks like a big chessboard," Oliver said. "No pieces."
"Are we the pieces?" Peter asked. "It looks like some of the spaces are pressure plates."
"Perhaps the pieces are off for cleaning." Oliver went up to the board and peered closely. "They're all pressure plates! And there's no way around. We're going to have to walk over it."
"Seems rather unfair to have them all be pressure plates," Peter said. "No chance for us to succeed! Unsporting, I say."
"Well..." Oliver touched one of the closest plates with a finger, then pressed on it. It didn't move. "The first two rows are inactive at the moment," he said after a bit of searching. "Traditionally, that's where the player's pieces begin."
"Yes Oliver, I'm aware," Peter said, joining Oliver on the board. "What do you think we're supposed to do?"
Oliver ruminated for a time. "I think we'll have to follow a pattern. I suspect that a certain plate beyond the first two rows are safe, and once we step on that platform it will only be forward-going for us. The tiles behind will become active, and another tile will be our next destination."
"So where do we start?"
"Not a pawn. That would be too easy. Just a straight shot. Same with the king. The rook, queen, and bishop have too far a range to expect us to reach every possible safe tile."
"That leaves the horsey," Peter said, pointing to the spots the knights begin.
"Correct." Oliver looked at the two spots. "But which." After a moment, he nodded. "Either." He stepped on the rightward knight spot, and the pressure plate activated. It sank an inch. Oliver inspected the board around him. "But what moves? The plates all look the same. Falkbeer Counter-Gambit?" he asked out loud. "Scotch game? Veresov attack?"
"Perhaps Babashov's runner?" Peter said from the safety of the volcanic rock.
"No, that begins with the bishop. The Overland route? Phillip whiskey? Nimzowitsch?" Oliver stood staring. "Well, it's probably Reti one way or the other." He leapt, making a jump two spaces up and one to the left. The plate depressed, and the original plate lifted back to its starting spot. "But now where to go next? Peter?"
"Dunno." Peter said. "I'll have a look around the room." He turned, taking in the area. He spotted something irregular about one of the walls and walked closer as Oliver jumped again, nearly loosing his balance but regaining it on the correct plate.
Peter rubbed the pleasantly-warm rock with his hands, and found what seemed to be a small latch or clasp. He released it, and a section of the wall folded down to reveal a mini-bar, stocked with bottles, glasses, ice, fruit, and assorted snacks. "Hey! There are drinks over here!" he called.
"Busy!"
Peter inspected the label on a bottle of vodka. "Good stuff, too. You want anything?"
"Can you make one of those things with the bourbon and lime?"
"I don't see any bourbon," Peter called over his shoulder, as Oliver made another leap. He was getting closer to the other side of the board. "How about an absolute stress?"
"That's fine!"
"Let's see. Rum, vodka, peach schnapps...It was cranberry and what else?"
"Orange!"
"Ah, that's right," Peter muttered, mixing the drink. He tasted it. "A bit more schnapps." He added the final piece, then nodded. "I could use some of that as well." He made another identical drink, dropped a few dollars in the jar labeled "tips," closed the bar, and took the drinks to the giant chess board. Oliver made one last leap and landed on the other side, sinking to his knees in exhaustion. As soon as the last pressure plate detected he was through, every one of the plates sank into the ground. Peter walked across the board casually, handing one of the drinks to Oliver.
"Smashing job," Peter said, sipping his absolute stress. "Well done."
"Much obliged," Oliver panted, drinking. "Oh, that's just what I needed. This is quite the de-luxe lair."
"Isn't it, though?" Peter looked around for a place to set their glasses. "We should just carry them with us, I suppose."
"Well we aren't going to just leave them on the ground!" Oliver said, recovering from the fatigue the trap had forced on him. "Let's continue."
"Let's."
The next section they walked through was smoother stone, made almost into a square hallway. A few bubble lights in the rock above them provided theatrical illumination in dense circles. Oliver sucked on the ice. "How was your drink?" Peter asked. Oliver nodded in approval. "A bit too fruity for me. Peach, orange, cranberry, and a cherry once it's mixed?" Peter shrugged. "Ah well, beggars can't be choosers, I suppose," he said, sipping at the last bits of the alcohol he'd found in a volcano. "Another trap room up ahead?"
"That's right," Oliver responded. "I'll let you take first crack at the next one."
"Sounds fair." They walked for a time. "Have you thought about what you're going to bring to the potluck next week?"
"A little. The Carimañolas I brought last year were a hit but they took so much work. I was thinking something a bit simpler. You?"
"I found an interesting recipe that's sort of scrambled eggs with paprika and a few other spices, sort of like deviled eggs but you don't need a special tray to hold them."
"Sounds tasty."
"I thought so."
"Are we lost?"
"Yes, I believe we are," Peter said. "Perhaps the map we saw earlier was out of date. We've gone through a number of paths that I didn't recognize."
"Well, the volcano does have three dimensions. Perhaps they found it difficult to accurately represent its twists and turns on a map that is only two dimensions."
"That might be true," Peter said, as they rounded a corner. They both looked on in confusion. "I certainly don't remember this on the map."
In front of them was a double-swing door, as one might see between the serving area and the kitchen of a restaurant. A sign over the door read "cafeteria."
"It makes sense, I suppose," Oliver said. "Every lair needs a crew to run it. The crew needs a place to eat. Thus, we get this."
"Should we go back around, or..."
"No, I'm sure we'll be able to find our way going through here. Besides, we got lost once, going back doesn't help that. I think we should just-"
He pushed one of the double-doors open, and found a large, brightly-lit room on the other side. It was full of long tables with attached benches, and the benches were full of men and women eating and talking, filling the room with the buzz of conversation. At first confused as to which direction they should navigate through the large area, Peter then spotted a door upon a walkway along the right wall. They nodded and took a step.
"Excuse me," a large woman in a white outfit said. "Can't you read?"
She was pointing at a sign reading "No firearms."
"Oh, er, excuse us," Oliver said, unholstering his pistol. He nudged Peter to do the same. They double-checked the safeties, then placed them in the woman's hands.
"You can get them back once you're done eating," she admonished them in an unknown accent. "Not a moment sooner."
"But we aren't here to eat actually, just passing-"
"Hey!"
Peter, Oliver, and the woman looked. A man had stood, and was pointing at them. "Those two aren't from here! Get them!"
Every person within earshot reached for his or her belt, including Peter and Oliver. Finding their pistols missing, they looked at the woman.
"Oh no yeh don't!" she yelled. "None of that sort of thing in here thank you very much!" She became red-faced with alarming speed. "You'll settle your arguments like adults!" She stomped away and through a door, taking their pistols with her.
Peter and Oliver looked back at the crowd, which had grown, but realized they didn't have their weapons either. The uneven groups stood at a standstill.
The man who had spotted them originally grabbed a dinner roll from someone's tray. He held it like a man might hold a grenade. "Stay where you are!" he warned.
"Jump!" Peter said, pushing Oliver out of the way, their glasses smashing on the ground. They dove to the side as the roll sailed past them. They ended up behind one of the tables, next to a large garbage can. Oliver slid close and rummaged through it, coming up with a half-eaten chicken sandwich. He offered it to Peter. "Not hungry at the moment."
"Throw it."
"Oh, right." Peter grabbed the sandwich and whipped it in the direction of the instigator, nailing him in the throat. He went down, gurgling. Oliver handed him something else, and Peter stood. "All right everyone, stand back! I am not afraid to use this...mushy apple core!" The crowd took a step back. "Now we're just going to be on our way, nice and quiet like. No need to-"
"Get them!" someone yelled, and a head of lettuce struck Peter in the face.
Food was fired at them with incredible speed, and Peter dived under the table. Oliver tipped it one its side, shielding them. He pulled the garbage can close and tipped it as well, giving them ample supplies for the siege.
Peter risked a glance. "They've formed a barricade in front of the stairs up to the walkway. We'll have to get some major firepower to get through that." A juice box bounced over the table and landed at his feet. "Snipers on the walkway as well. A couple of heavy infantry coming at us. Plan?"
"Search me," Oliver said. "Fling garbage at them!" He got to his knee and his arm swung; Peter saw a woman get an orb of mashed potatoes in the hand, and go down. Peter grabbed an old pancake and threw it like a Frisbee, catching a man in the head. A terrible scream followed. "Would have liked to avoid a firefight."
"We can't always have what we want." Oliver primed a cup of yogurt and tossed it. The splash spilled over their table a small amount. A loud thud came from their table, and then a potato hit the wall in front of them. "Spuds!" Peter yelled. "They're bringing out the big guns already!"
"Then we'll need to up the ante before they have a chance," Oliver said, pointing at what was at the bottom of the garbage can.
"No!" Peter said. "I can't have that on my conscience! That must be a few days old! Why is there so much of it?!"
"Who's to say. All I know is it might have saved our lives. Come on, get as much as you can and aim for their people at the barricade." They both scuttled to the garbage can and pulled out as much ammo as they could carry--terrible, stinking armfuls each. "Ready?"
Peter nodded, and they stood, slinging two-day-old sushi from the bottom of the garbage as fast as they could.
When their supply ran dry, Oliver made a move to fetch more, but Peter stopped him, motioning joylessly at the battlefield.
Men weeped. One was lying in a puddle of his own vomit. The barricade was abandoned. A woman had sushi over her eyes, as if she was in a charming day spa and not a scene of horror.
They found one man who was lying on his back, staring at the distant ceiling, arm extended, fingers curling and uncurling repeatedly, as if to take some skyward prize. His lips moved quietly. Oliver hovered a hand over his face and prayed. Peter knelt by another woman and felt for a pulse.
"A reminder our job isn't all giant chessboards and volcanic mini-bars," Oliver whispered. He couldn't bear to look behind him as they climbed the stairs to the walkway. Only one of the snipers positioned there still moved. Peter went up to him; the man backed away frantically, wet tracks digging through the grime on his face. He shook his head, pleading, as Peter got closer.
"We're done here," Peter told the man. "We don't need to hurt anyone else. Tell us where the prime minister's daughter is." The man continued whimpering, turning his eyes away from Peter. "Hey." Peter shook him gently. Oliver handed him a clean towel, and Peter used it to wipe the man's face. "We want to end this. You can tell us."
The man was finally able to look at him. He trembled, jaw quivering. He slowly turned his head and spied a friend of his. The friend's arms hung limply over the edge of the walkway. The man started sobbing, and Peter took him in a hug. "'Salright," Peter said quietly. "It's over now. Go on, let it out. There's my boy. What's your name, kid?"
The man sniffed. "Elizabeth."
"Okay. E-...Elizabeth. Can you tell us where the prime minister's daughter is?" Elizabeth nodded. "Go on then. We'll be out of your hair."
"She's with the boss," Elizabeth sputtered. "Level eight, in the laser chamber."
"Roger. Thank you...Elizabeth. We'll let you be, now." Peter let the man go. He seemed to have fallen asleep. Peter nodded to Oliver. "Level eight. The 'laser chamber.'"
"I don't like the sound of that." Oliver stepped over the body and they made their way to the far door.
Pushing through it, they continued their way into the volcano. They both felt the heat rise.
"Any ideas what a 'laser chamber' could be?" Oliver asked, wiping his hands on his pants. "Sounds suspiciously similar to that mirror-maze evil Professor Blödername built. It took us weeks to get through it! And he was laughing at us the whole time..." Oliver trailed off and shook his head. "He probably could have just used a rifle and made things a lot easier on himself."
"We cannot fathom evil," Peter intoned, "for it is depthless. And, in our experience, kinda dumb."
"I hear that. Remember Italy?"
"Italy?" Peter tilted his head, eyebrows slamming together. "I don't! What happened?"
"For one thing, you got smashed on Zinfandel. For another, the Trio of Terror decided they would try to destroy the rock of Gibraltar"
"The rock of Gibraltar isn't anywhere near...oh. What did they end up destroying?"
"Just some reef. We went in a few minutes later and carted them off. Except you tried to read them their Miranda rights, couldn't remember them, gave up, and tried to hit on Emily Evil."
"Aw! No!" Peter frowned, but then seemed to reconsider. "She'd be very pretty if she cleaned off the face paint and did away with the piercings. Most of them, anyway." He shivered. "Did I really?"
"At least until she tried to bite you," Oliver said. "Look, an elevator. I bet that can take us to level eight."
In a moment they found themselves inside the elevator. Baby blue paneling and the same Caribbean muzak accompanied them as they rose. They heard a ding, and a panel above the door displayed the number eight. They exited, finding themselves in what appeared to be a hotel. Large windows overlooked the clear ocean and the lush forest spread out below them. Peter spotted a door; it opened onto a long hallway with a grand number of identical doors lining both walls. The far wall was a cloudy question barely answered.
"I suppose we start with the first door," Oliver said. "I'll take the ones on the right, you take the left."
"Classic," Peter replied. The first door he opened revealed a brick wall. Undaunted, he closed it and moved to the next. Oliver found what he at first believed was a mirror, but upon closer inspection turned out to be an exact copy of himself. They shook hands, chatted a bit, and then Oliver closed the door. Peter's next was a short hallway, shaped like an L. He found a teddy bear on a table at the end, but when he turned around to exit, found the same L-shaped hallway, as if he was back at the beginning. This hallway had an identical teddy bear. This pattern repeated for a few minutes, until Peter finally found a door once more, ejecting himself into the original hallway, carrying a dozen bears. Oliver waited.
"Anything?"
"No, nothing," Peter said, dropping the bears. Oliver's next door was a pathway to a small beach, over which the sun zoomed endlessly. By the time he closed the door, Oliver figured he must have watched it for two or three weeks. The next door showed a burnt-down house.
Peter opened one door, only for an arm--origin: unknown--to emerge from a black cloud and hand him a snickerdoodle. "Ah," Peter said. "Thanks." He told Oliver about the snickerdoodle-arm-door as he chewed.
"You get all the interesting doors," Oliver groused. He got his own cookie, and then Peter offered to switch sides. "No, that's all right. I'm bound to get something interesting."
His very next door was opened to reveal a man chained to the wall at the end of a narrow space. Seeing him, the man called out for help, stating he hadn't eaten for a week. Oliver closed the door and sighed.
They continued in this manner for the better part of an hour. When they reached the end of the hallway Oliver wore a lei around his neck, given to him by a lovely dark-skinned woman with four arms, and Peter was just finishing the ice cream he'd gotten from the door with a treat stand behind it. "You know," Peter said, crunching the cone, "the door at the very end of the hallway should have been our first try." Oliver opened the door.
"Where have you been?!" they heard a shout coming from the other end of the large room they found themselves in. With a high ceiling and far walls bearing hundreds and hundreds of small black protrusions, and an array of mirrors hanging in the air and around the room, it was certainly the laser chamber. A girl about fifteen, sitting sullenly, was in the center of the room. Her arms were folded and she was frowning.
The man had a criss-cross of scars over his face, an utter absence of hair above the neck, and two fingers on his right hand were made of jointed ruby. He grinned when he saw the two men. "So kind of you to keep me waiting! I expected you...over an hour ago!" he shouted. "What took you so long?"
"Maybe it was all the doors on our way to this one!" Oliver shouted. "How were we supposed to know which one was the right one?"
"Didn't you take a pamphlet?" the man shouted.
"Pamphlet?" Peter replied. "No, we didn't see one!"
"Bah, fine!" The man shook his fist. "Shall we get on with this?"
"After you!" Oliver shouted.
Slowly, building steam, the man gave a long, dark, gruesome laugh. "Action Duo! You've walked right into my trap!" His fist slammed down on the panel in front of him, and the door closed behind Peter and Oliver. "There's no escape now!" The small black protrusions all around the room switched on, firing red beams in all directions, bouncing and re-bouncing off the mirrors. "You've found the prime minister's daughter...but can you reach her? Aaaaaaaahahahahahahaha!"
"Well done!" Peter said, clapping. "Bravo!"
"Let's get on with it," Oliver urged. He took one step down, and his lei was sliced through by an errant beam. The ends, falling to the floor, burned slightly. Oliver frowned.
"He's not playing around," Peter said. He narrowed his eyes at the man in the back. "Hold on...isn't that-"
"It's true! I, Coolio "Maximum" Dudely, am behind the kidnapping!" He grinned. "Never saw that coming, eh?"
"Very unexpected!" Oliver said, ducking under the first laser. "I didn't know you'd switched sides. Did I miss the email?"
"I didn't get anything either!" Peter said, following him into the glowing fray. "HR must have really dropped the ball on that. We really need to be kept up-to-date on these things. Coolio! Did they at least bring in a cake? I know we weren't in the same department, but I would have liked to tell you it was an honor to work with you, before working against you!"
"I had a small gathering!" Coolio shouted back. "Cozy! And informal!"
"That's nice," Oliver said. "It's always good to be recognized for your contribution. But Coolio! How did you get such a cushy gig right away?" Oliver carefully stepped over a beam, and then sidled between two of them. "Don't you normally have to work up to those kind of spots? You know, put your time in the metaphorical or even literal villain-trenches?"
"Normally, yes! But I proved my worth, became the second-in-command, and then a...nasty accident occurred. An allergic reaction, I'm afraid!" Coolio laughed again. "Really very serious. He's in the hospital. Peanut allergies are nothing to laugh at."
"A shame!" Peter said. "I think you would have made a fine second! Tell your boss we said to get well soon." He slithered under two crossing beams.
"Kind of you to say! He'll be touched, I'm sure. I see you're navigating the laser chamber with ease!" Coolio laughed once more. "Time to heat things up a bit!" He spun a dial, and the lasers began to adjust themselves. With the many mirrors, it made for a red-hot maze in three dimensions of constant motion.
"Ingenious!" Oliver said, ducking out of the way of a beam, only to have another scrape along the end of his boot. "And deadly."
"I'll say!" Oliver looked at Peter. The man's shirt was burnt, and had a hole sliced through the middle. "Time for a bit of speed?"
Oliver nodded, and they both took off, running and diving through the air to avoid the many beams. Peter landed and rolled, finding one of them on its way to his very spot. He shifted quickly, letting it move past him, and then used the brief open area to go towards the girl in the middle. He collided with a glass pane unexpectedly, smashing his face and knocking himself down. A beam passed through where he had been standing a moment before. "First time I've ever been glad to run into a window," he muttered.
Oliver tried knocking down the mirrors but they were too solid. A beam passed over his head harmlessly, and he chuckled. He saw Peter going for the girl so he went for the back of the room and the safe spot where Coolio stood. A startling array of lasers blocked Oliver's path, but this was the man who'd taken first in the Pink Floyd dance competition four years in a row. He moved and spun, trying to keep track of the range of motion of all the beams at once.
Stumbling forward, he was immediately burnt from six sides, the beams glancing off his skin and making momentary sizzling sounds. It would have smelled good had he not known it was his own body cooking.
Peter tapped on the glass. The girl within, still pouting, glanced at him. "How do I get you out?" he asked. A beam from a nearby mirror clipped the tips of his horned hair, and he scowled at the follicles of hair drifting down.
The girl jerked her head in Coolio's direction. "He controls it," she said curtly.
"Are you all right?" Peter asked.
"No! He took my phone away!"
"I'll get it back," Peter puffed out his chest. "You can count on me." She had returned sitting on the floor with her arms crossed, watching the spinning lasers with boredom. Peter turned and, like Oliver, tried to figure out a way through the deadly beams. Like Oliver, he was hit by almost a dozen before figuring out the pattern.
Oliver reached Coolio "Maximum" Dudely first, and they engaged in combat. Coolio's Ruby fingers gave him an extra striking strength, which he used upside Oliver's head. Oliver recovered quickly and tackled the villain around the middle, knocking him down. He gave Coolio a punch in the stomach and then was thrown off. Peter joined them at the back of the room, hair smoking slightly. As Oliver tangled with Coolio, Peter went to the control panel Coolio had been using. None of the buttons were labeled, and it didn't look anything like the control panels he'd seen in the past, so he hit a button at random.
The lasers halted, seemed to shudder, and then started spinning wildly across the room. Peter dropped to the floor and a beam cut across where he'd been standing.
"You fool!" Coolio shouted. "You've put it into panic mode! We're all in danger now!"
"We were in danger before!" Peter shouted back. "This doesn't change our situation at all!"
Oliver hit Coolio in the throat. "Peter! Shut them off!"
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Peter replied, haphazardly pressing buttons and flipping switches. "None of these do anything!"
"Of course not!" Coolio yelled, coughing. "I only needed a few buttons to control the thing, so only a few of them are hooked up! You think I needed that whole thing just to run this entire room?"
"Maybe!" Peter hesitated. "So I just happened to hit the one button that sends it into panic mode?" He turned a dial, and the color of the lasers shifted hue to yellow. He played with it for a minute, ending on green. "Isn't that nice? Much easier on the eyes."
"PETER!"
"All right, all right." Peter peered close, trying to find any clue on how to manipulate the lasers. Meanwhile, Oliver continued wrestling with Coolio. At the moment, Coolio had him pinned and had his hands linked for a smashing attack at Coolio's face. A green beam cut through the air, and Oliver saw Coolio's face change from triumph to agony. He cupped his hand and screamed. Oliver pushed him off and held him down. The beam had sliced through the first two fingers on Coolio's left hand.
"It's not so bad," Oliver reassured the villain. "At least now you'll be symmetrical." Coolio thrashed under him. "And the wound's already cauterized."
The lasers shut off. The room seemed quieter, somehow. Peter went to Oliver and helped him haul Coolio to his feet. "Look. It's your start of darkness, right?" Oliver was saying. "You got your fingers cut off by one of your own lasers, and now you're out for blood."
"I'd already had two fingers cut off!" Coolio said unhappily.
"Yes, but that was for the good of the world. A red badge of courage," Peter said. "This was in the furthering of your own evil goals. Be a sport and tell me which of these things opens the young lady's cell?"
"It's the blue switch on the right."
"So it is," Peter said, hitting it. The heard a click, and the prime minister's daughter pushed open one of the glass panes. She walked to the back and held out her hand to Coolio, glaring. "Her phone."
"I don't have it with me," the villain said. "Why would I have it with me?"
"Why indeed," Peter replied. "So where is it?"
"I don't know...up in my office I think. Look, my hand really hurts. Can we get a move on? I feel quite dizzy."
"Yes, yes." Oliver looked at Peter. "What's our exit?"
"We use quick-release chutes and the rising thermals from the volcano to get into the air and we're picked up by a plane. Standard approach, we go back to base, debrief, and then it's scotch and soda at the bar before closing time." Peter looked at Coolio. "Bet you feel foolish."
"I'm rethinking a few life choices."
"Are you going to be upset if we don't recover your phone?" Oliver asked the prime minister's daughter. She nodded. "I think I remember how to get to the main offices from the map. We'll need to get back to the elevator."
Oliver walked with the prime minister's daughter as Peter hauled Coolio to his feet and made their way to the exit of the laser chamber. "What's your name, young lady?" Oliver asked.
"Lydia," the girl snarled.
"It's nice to meet you. My name's Oliver. Your father will be very happy to see you home safe and sound, I'm sure."
"I doubt it. I bet he didn't even want to pay the ransom."
The girl was upset, but this wasn't Oliver's first time rescuing a sour teen diplomat. "On the contrary. Not only did he ask for our expertise specifically, but he prepared the money in case the mission was a failure. He made us promise that not a hair on your head was harmed." Oliver saw several of Lydia's strands had been sliced through by the wild lasers. Their ends smoked slightly. "I'm sure it was rhetorical."
"He really said that?"
"Explicitly and implicitly. He'll be overjoyed to see you safe."
"Oh." Lydia seemed distraught. "I want to go home."
"We'll just fetch your phone and be on our way."
Behind them, Peter and Coolio were chatting, partially in an attempt to distract Coolio from the pain in his severed fingers, and partially to relive old times.
"I've never asked you how you lost your fingers. I mean...your other fingers." Peter coughed. "I mean, if you want to tell the tail, that is."
"Oh, these?" Coolio lifted his right hand. The ruby fingers flopped. "Not a very interesting story, I'm afraid. There I was, in the Alaskan wilderness. Two grizzly bears coming for me, enraged. All I had was a clown suit, a baseball glove, and two pounds of rock salt. The grizzlies-"
"Coolio, what level is your room on?" Oliver asked. The four of them stood in the elevator. "Ten?"
"Yes, ten. As I was saying, the grizzlies...hang on, that's a different story. Was it the thing in Africa with the were-panthers?" Coolio inspected the corners of his eyes, as if the answer could be found there. "Give me a moment."
"Here we are, level ten." Oliver said. It was a wide area like a waiting room, with double doors on the far wall. "Through there, I suspect."
"No, I remember. It wasn't the panthers or the grizzlies. I was-"
"It's locked," Oliver said. "Keys."
"In my pocket," Coolio told Peter, who began fishing them out. "Anyway, as I was saying, I was actually-"
"Where's the phone?" Oliver asked. "Tiger shark! They look a bit thin."
"They have to be, to ferociously devour any fool that tries to get me in my office," Coolio said, tapping his foot on the glass floor. "Level nine is their holding tank. I could introduce you if you like; they're very friendly."
"I want to go home."
"Lydia wants to go home, and I feel she has the say. The phone?"
"It's in one of my desk drawers. Not the bottom one--it's booby trapped. Where was I?"
"I don't know," Peter responded.
"Oh, well, long story short they got ripped off thanks to a too-tight bowling ball. Very painful. Before I even joined the team."
"Here you are," Oliver said, handing the phone to Lydia. She took it and immediately began deleting messages. "So what's the emergency?"
Coolio looked at him. "Sorry?"
"There's always an emergency at the end of these missions. The volcano's going to blow? Reactor going to blow?" Peter rubbed his face. "Locusts?"
"We don't have a volatile reactor, there are no locusts, and the volcano can't blow, it's an open crater. The worst it could do is have the lava rise to an unsafe level."
"Is that...happening?" Peter asked.
"No. But I suppose we could pretend?"
"What?" Lydia asked, confused. She was still deleting messages.
"I suppose that could work, given an absence of the real thing," Oliver said. "As practice, perhaps."
"Sounds like a plan. What say I give you...thirty seconds head start? Then I'll send the boys after you."
"Wonderful. Well Coolio, it's been nice talking. See to the fingers, will you? Have a wonderful day!" Peter socked Coolio in the chin, sending the man spinning into the room and onto the floor, groaning. "Off we go! Forgive my brusqueness, miss!" He picked Lydia up and threw her on his back. "To the elevator!"
Seconds after leaving the room, Coolio's voice came over the speaker. "All personnel! Indigo alert! Pretend to attempt to detain the men escaping with the prime minister's daughter!"
The got into the elevator and Oliver hit the button for the floor they'd originated from. When it opened, they found six men with guns pointed at them.
"'Stop' them!" one of the men shouted, and rattled his machine gun, making shooting noises with his mouth. The five other men joined in.
Oliver dove forward, coming up with his two index fingers pointed. "Bang bang!" he shouted, and two of the men theatrically cried out, slumping over. Peter came next, Lydia--rabidly confused--still on his back. He had one pistol-finger cupped, and drew a bead on the leader.
"Fft!" he said, and the leader fell quietly. Oliver dispatched the rest and they ran ahead, through the now-empty cafeteria. They recovered their proper pistols from the lunch lady, and made their way to the chess board, still unlocked. More men were coming after them, shouting things like "don't let them get away!" Or "stop them before the 'volcano blows'!" Oliver fired loosed a few "Bangs!" their way, and a few dropped.
They came up to the room where Christopher waited, and the escape halted. Peter and Oliver took a more extensive questionnaire while the men chasing them had a smoke. Lydia sat cross-legged on the floor with her phone. After a few minutes, Christopher wished them a good escape and stepped aside.
They ran to the volcano's mouth and, after shaking hands with the men pursuing them, released their chutes and were pulled upward by the lava's thermals. A plane scooped them gently, and Lydia found herself in audience with Stella Kleintorbogen.
"Well done. Anything to report?" she asked the men.
"Coolio "Maximum" Dudely was behind the kidnapping," Peter said. "He's doing well. Down two more fingers, but other than that seems to be getting along."
"Good, that's good. And you, miss Lydia? Are you hurt?"
"Everything was fine," Lydia said, still deleting messages.
"Say," Stella said, putting a finger to her lips. "Doesn't your father know Coolio rather well?"
"What?" Lydia whipped her head up to gaze at Stella. "No, or, I don't think so, no!" She stuffed her phone down her shirt.
"Oh well. Drinks, gentlemen? Something for Lydia as well."
"Another job well done!" Oliver said, drink in hand.
"I'll say!" Peter said. "I wouldn't mind a mission like that more often!" Lydia's phone buzzed, vibrating her shirt, but she didn't move to answer it.
Another successful mission for Action Duo! Tune in next time to hear The Emblem of the Egg! A small excerpt follows:
"What?" Oliver asked, throwing the penguin over the side of the building.