Chapter 3: The Amazing Doctor Futura

Dr. Victor Futura adjusted his tie in the mirror and checked his watch for the fiftieth time that night. Almost time. His thick brown hair was Brylcreemed away from his high forehead, and his white tuxedo jacket was immaculate. Tracy had somehow managed to get the ink stains out of the pocket, a feat of domestic wizardry that his considerable scientific knowledge could never match. He let out a deep breath and fumbled his pipe out of his pocket. With a flick of the tiny electric switch on the side of the bowl, the fine Turkish tobacco glowed to life. He puffed the aromatic smoke and attempted to relax.

Slender hands reached around his chest from behind and adjusted his lapels. “Will you look at you, all nervous.” Tracy poked her head out from behind his shoulder and smiled at him in the mirror. She was small, and some would call her mousy, but she had been Dr. Futura's assistant and girlfriend for five years. He thought she looked amazing in her blue taffeta evening dress.

“I'm not nervous,” Dr. Furuta said, exhaling a cloud of silvery smoke. “I just want to make sure I look good for the press.”

Tracy gave him a lopsided smile. “And you're a lousy liar too. Honestly, how a man who's fought alien invaders, traveled beyond time and space, and harnessed the power of the atom can be afraid of a few reporters and stuffed shirts I'll never know.”

Dr. Futura looked out at his guests. There must have been at least a hundred people there, he thought. Reporters from all the major local and national newspapers, state and city officials, representatives from the National Science Federation, and even a handful of hot young celebrities. “There's rather more than 'a few' I think, Tracy.”

“Oh, pshaw,” she chided. “If you hate it so much, then why do you throw these parties? Why not just mail a press release to all the papers and magazines?”

“You know the answer to that, Tracy. Science must be demonstrated! If I just sent a letter to The Daily Tribune, with claims of my latest breakthroughs, no one would believe me. But if I show them, well it leaves no room for doubt.” He chewed on the stem of his electric pipe. “Besides, no one reads the science section of the paper. You need to put on a show to get people's attention.”

Out in the ballroom, the orchestra finished playing “Moonlight Sonata” and the chattering crowd hushed to a low murmur as Mike Silverman, Dr. Futura's friend from the National Science Foundation, walked up to the microphone. Dr. Silverman and the microphone stood on a small stage built along the far wall opposite the buffet. The stage was dominated, not by Silverman's considerable girth, however, but by the large, irregular shape hidden from view under a wide white tarp.

Dr. Silverman tapped the microphone. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, members of the press, and honored colleagues. For the past ten years, Victor Futura has been the most exciting name in scientific discovery and progressive invention. Now the pioneer of the Aetheric Flux Formula and the inventor of the Temporal Scrambler has promised to reveal his latest achievement. Please welcome or host for the evening, my good friend, Dr. Victor Futura.”

Dr. Futura straightened his tie for the fifty-first time as Tracy pushed him ungently towards the stage. “Go get 'em Vic.”