Chapter 4: Radio Science!

All eyes were upon Dr. Futura. With his rugged good looks and athletic build, he more resembled a movie star rather than one of the world's greatest scientists. No ninety-eight pound weakling he. Yet for all his Hollywood appeal, he was always nervous on stage. He tried to ignore the sea of faces and popping flash bulbs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in recent decades, modern American science has revolutionized communication and transportation. Our express railroads criss-cross the continent. Great steamships ply the oceans and protect our shores. Our aeroplanes and dirigibles soar through the clouds. And now we've recently begun to explore the depths of outer space.” At the mention of space, several members of the audience turned to look at the girl near the back of the crowd—blond, bronzed, and built like a pinup. The Dinosaur Girl of Venus, the papers had called her. Dr. Futura hadn't realized she'd be here; he'd let Mike and Tracy handle in invitations. Valerie began to blush at the unexpected attention. Dr. Futura adjusted the microphone stand with a squawk of electronic feedback, drawing everyone's attention back to the stage.

“There remains only one method of travel left to pioneer. I speak, of course, of teleportation!” A confused murmur fluttered through the crowd, like a wave of skepticism. Dr. Futura patted his forehead with a handkerchief. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tracy in the wings, encouraging him on. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Yes, teleportation! The instantaneous transmission of matter from one place to another.” He grabbed the edge of the tarp behind him. “Behold! My Radio-Matter Transmission Engine!” With a quick pull, the canvas flew from the device.

The Engine resembled the inner workings of a radio expanded to enormous size. A bizarre collection of wires, vacuum arrays, radio crystals, and Crookes tubes covered the sides of a ten-foot tall nickel-copper pylon. Two articulated struts extended from the pylon, and each terminated in what looked like a complex radio antenna. A control panel full of toggles, dials, and switches sat between the two antenna struts, and a massive generator sat behind the pylon, ready to supply power to the massive contraption.

Mike and Tracy came onto stage, each rolling a dinner cart in front of them. Tracy's cart was empty, and she placed it in front of the left antenna. Mike's cart held a bronze bust of Charles Babbage, and he placed it in front of the right antenna. “Allow me to demonstrate this marvel of radio science,” Dr. Futura proclaimed to the audience, spreading his arms wide. His previous anxiety began to evaporate as he spoke of his craft. His love of science—mad or otherwise—filled him with confidence.

Dr. Futura strode to the control panel and threw a complex series of switches as Mike and Tracy backed away from their respective carts. The generator sparked to life with an electric hum. Electricity arced and rippled up the pylon, and the crystals and tubes glowed with an unusual light. The air smelled of ozone, and the lights in the chandeliers above dimmed for a few seconds. Outside, thunder rumbled as the storm that had threatened the city all night finally let lose. Rain splattered across the glass skylights high above the ballroom. “Observe now,” the scientist said as he pointed to the cart on the right with the bust of Babbage. “The Engine will transform the good Mr. Babbage here into radio waves, then retransmit and reassemble him on that empty cart over there.”

Dr. Futura threw a large red switch on the control panel. The roar of rain against the skylight mingled with the machine's electric buzz, filling the ballroom with white noise. An invisible wave of energy rippled from the right antenna, and the bronze sculpture wavered, then disappeared in a gray blizzard of visual static. Almost instantly, the the bust reappeared on the previously empty cart on the left in a similar shower of static. Success!

The crowd gasped, then exploded into applause, while mere seconds later, the skylight above exploded into shower of glass.

A dozen figures dropped in through the shattered skylight. They were tall and broad things, squarely built in a mockery of the human form. Their “eyes” glowed an evil red, and their “skin” had the dull gray luster of gunmetal. Weird bundles on their backs emitted jets of flame that slowed their decent to the floor. Each carried a Thompson submachine gun in metal claws.

“My god!” shouted Dr. Futura. “It's a robot attack!”

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.”

Chapter 2: Beware the Magpie!

The cold wind whipped across the gargoyle-haunted rooftops of Apex city.  Black clouds rolled in from the harbor, flashing with lightning and the promise of an early autumn thunderstorm.  From his perch in the bell tower of the old St. Lazarus cathedral, the Magpie scanned the skyline.  His powerful binoculars watched the street, watched the sky, and watched the windows of the buildings around him.  Below him, the citizens of Apex city went about their business, in and out of restaurants, clubs, and late-night shops.  Above him, zeppelins slowly plowed their way across the stormy sky, bringing trade and travelers into the city.  Across from him, on the top floor of the Cavendesh Building, Dr. Victor Futura. hosted a press ball, no doubt unveiling some fabulous new invention.  Even in the storm shrouded night, the ornate, art deco skylights of the Cavendesh Building shone like crystal towers.

It had been three hours since the Magpie intercepted the coded transmission on the Roost's powerful radio set. The code matched no known cypher used by the U.S. government or military, and it took him the better part of an hour to decode the message.  The stormy weather had jumbled much of the transmission, and the Magpie could only produce two words from the ether.

“Tonight.”

“Cavendesh.”

It was a gamble, to be sure.  There were any number of Apex citizens who bore the name Cavendesh, but none he could think of that would warrant mention in a coded message from an unknown source.  Yet with such a gamble, he couldn't justify warning the Apex Police Department and risk diverting resources from other crimes in the city—not that Chief O'Neil would listen to the masked vigilante anyway. Tonight, the Magpie would fly alone.

The corvid crusader adjusted his binoculars and swung his view back skyward.  Nothing. But wait!  That last flash of lightning in the clouds, was it his imagination or did it reveal the dull gray reflection of metal?  He kept his sharp eyes on the cloud as it slowly meandered across the sky, waiting for another flash of lightning.  After a few tense minutes, the Magpie was rewarded by another burst of electric light.  His eyes burned as he kept them fixed on the cloud, but his endurance was rewarded.  Yes. There! The sheen of metal, and the shadow of something large behind it, hidden in the storm clouds.

The Magpie placed his binoculars back under his black Inverness coat and blinked his eyes until the dancing neon afterimages of the lightning cleared from his vision.  He checked his equipment--the gas-powered grappling gun and his jet-handled .45 automatic known to criminals throughout Apex City as The Magpie's Talon. His eyes were already hidden by a black goggles, but he drew his fedora  farther down across his brow, further shadowing his face.

The Magpie was ready to strike!

Chapter 1: Dinosaur Girl of Venus

Valerie tugged uncomfortably at her evening dress.  She was used to running naked through the dinosaur-infested jungles of Venus, and the red stain off-the shoulder job she wore itched her in unaccustomed places.  Gala parties and press events were as alien to her as tyrannosaurus wrangling would be to the gown and tuxedo-clad ladies and gentlemen that milled about the ballroom.  The perfume Jack made her wear mixed with the cigarette smoke in the air to blocked her sense of smell, while the twelve-piece orchestra in the balcony and the incessant chatter of the party-goers confused her ears.  A pack of Venusian blood beetles could sneak up behind her, and she wouldn't even know it until their razor sharp pincers dug into her bronzed flesh.  No, Valerie Raptor did not care much for parties.

“Champagne, my dear?” Jack approached her with a glass of bubbly gold and a small paper plate of hor'dourves. Jack looked sharp in his tuxedo, and he smiled easily as he glided between the crowd.  Jack Harrison, Valerie reminded herself, was a lifelong native of Apex City, and was an master of this urbane jungle.

“You know I don't drink alcohol, Jack,” Valerie said.  She wrinkled her nose as she examined the bit of shrimp and cheese skewered on a toothpick.  It tasted bland and processed, but at least it was meat.  “My senses are diluted enough right now without booze.”  She sighed and shook her honey-blond hair off her shoulders.  “Jack, why did you drag me here?”

“Valerie, darling,” Jack said, taking the refused champagne and downing it himself, “as your publicist, I'm sure I don't have to remind you how important it is for you to remain in the public eye.  Ever since your rescue from Venus two years ago, people want to know more about you. Work on your biography, Dinosaur Girl of Venus, is almost done.  Hollywood is already knocking down the door for movie rights.  These public appearances are important if we want to maintain your status as a celebrity.”

The bronze amazon grimaced and half-heartedly picked at a canapé. “If it weren't for the fact that the money is all going to the Venusian Preservation Project, I wouldn't even bother.”

“It's all for a good cause, my dear,” Jack replied.  “Besides, these events that Dr. Futura holds are always exciting.  Much more exciting than a normal press release.  And his inventions are always amazing, don't you think?”

Valerie smirked.  “ I don't trust anything more complex than a longbow, Jack.”

Introduction

Robot monkeys. Dinosaurs with jetpacks.  Pirates with rayguns.   I love outrageous adventures.  My friends love outrageous adventures.  The blogs and forums I read on the Internet love outrageous adventure.

If someone posts a picture of, say, Teddy Roosevelt riding a T-Rex while fighting a ninja or Gilgamesh arm-wrestling a Nazi, I can guarantee there will be several posts exclaiming "OMG I would soooo watch that movie!" or something similar.  And yet, very few people write these stories or make these movies.

So I aim to fix that.

This is my outrageous pulp adventure. This is the movie I always wanted to see. It's something I hope my friends and people like them can enjoy.