[JimmyDimples]

Hey, I figured if Marknew can do one, so can I.  I know, though, that the chapter's only a quarter or third complete, if even that.  Here's what I've got so far, though.

Oh, and for the new folks, if you don't know what the heck this is about, here are the links to the original story,
Power Play.
And for Child's play, chapter 1, I've Got a Secret
and chapter 2, Inspiration, Please! 

And now, the sneak peek…

Child's Play
Chapter 3:  Blackout

"What are you doing in there?!" I demanded.  The boy just stared back nervously.  "Why are you in there?!"  Not a mumbin' word. "You climb out of there now!"  He vigorously shook his head no.

"Monty?" Dr. Long called back.  "What's going on back there?"

"We've got a stowaway!"

"A what?!"

"Somebody's hiding in the container!  Can you come back here?"

"I'll put her on autopilot."

And I reached right in, grabbed the little guy by the wrists, and slid him on outta there.  He jerked around, but it was no contest.  As I set him on his feet, Dr. Long tromped back to us.  Peering hard at the twerp, he arched an eyebrow.  "And who do we have here?"

The boy just looked back between us very nervously.  "Well, at least give us a name so we don't have to call you just 'Hey You,' all right?"  I muttered.  Nothing back.

Dr. Long leaned in sternly.  "Young man," he said quietly, "do you know what the penalties are in the Commonwealth of Australia for breaking and entering?"

The kid's breath got shorter, and I could tell he was honestly terrified.  And I knew what little rats were capable of doing if cornered.  "Wait, wait, wait," I said, calming my tone, hoping to calm him down, too.  "Let's back up.  We're not out to get you in trouble.  We want some answers, though.  One more time from the top:  what's your name?" 

His silence was more deafening than the jet engines.  "All right, look," I huffed.  "You can either tell me your name, or I can cook one up for ya.  And I promise it'll be one you hate.  How about it… Stinky? Mousy? Wormy? Dweezil?" Not even a blink.  "Twerp? Buttface? Zitskrieg?" Nada.  Time to get nasty.  "How about… Andy Pandy?"

He flinched at that.  "Yeah.  Andy Pandy.  That's your new name, buddy."  He glowered, and I knew I'd hit a nerve.

"How about," Dr. Long piped up, "Carter?"

This time the guy jumped like the doctor stun-gunned him.  "Ah yes," the doctor continued, "Mr. Carter Nedry McShane.  From the village of Wynchabringafrendalong, shire of Albany, state of Queensland, commonwealth of Australia.  And on October 29 you turn, what, eleven years old?" He chuckled.  "Must be peculiar, being born on the anniversary of the Great Depress–"

And that's when the kid bolted toward the plane's front.  I gave chase but didn't sprint at full tilt; where could he run?

Slam! went the cockpit door in my face.  Click! went the lock. Oh.  That's where. 

I banged my fist on it loudly.  "Carter! Unlock this thing right NOW!"  Nothing.  This was getting tiresome.  "Carter, you do NOT want me to break this door down, buddy!"

"Hello!" he shouted.  "Hello, Mum!  Ned here!  I'm in a plane that just left Treytebbelup!" 

Panic!  I searched around for a fire axe or an extinguisher or ANYTHING to smash into the door lock.  He continued hurriedly.  "There are two men, one Chinese or Japanese, definitely Asian, and one who's either Canadian or… or… Ameri…."  Then I heard him collapse to the floor.

Dr. Long calmly walked up to the door and looked at a speaker in the wall. "Kymen," he said calmly. 

The door unlocked and slid open automatically.  I saw Ned sprawled out spreadeagle, bonier and frailer than before.  Alarmed, I dropped to my knees.  "Dude! Are you all right?!" I exclaimed automatically.

I then felt Dr. Long's toe lightly nudge the back of my thigh.  Looking up irritatedly, I saw him put one finger to his lips, and point heatedly down to the floor with a hair-dryer-esqe device. 

And right by Ned's hand was his cell phone. 

I quickly scooped it up and hit the button to end the call.  No noise on the other end, thankfully.  I looked down to the kid, who glared up with very angry, accusing, helpless eyes. 

"Take him, wrap him, and stash him back in the container for now," Dr. Long ordered.

I picked him up in my arms, and did a quick discreet patdown of his pockets for any other surprises.  I felt the envelope from earlier, something that felt like his wallet, and one other hard, rounded, L-shaped thing.  Curious, I dug in his pocket and fished it up.

It was an inhaler. 

"Khhh— hhh-kkhhhh–"

Oh man!  I saw his face get flush as it made like an out-of-water fish's.  Not thinkng twice, I raised the inhaler to his lips and pressed.  Whoosh.  His lungs gripped the stuff greedily, and he snorted it down.  And with that I gently pulled his right hand to his mouth, wrapped his fingers around the inhaler, and snagged his wallet and envelope.  His eyes widened with alarm when I did that.  Then I took out a roll of fabric, and Saran-Wrapped him snugly like an onion in the fridge. 

***

I climbed into the co-pilot's seat.  Dr. Long grunted.  "This is serious."

"You didn't have to drain him," I muttered.

"He didn't have to climb on board."

"The kid had an asthma attack!  What if he'd died?!"

"What if he'd finished that call?  Or messed with the controls?"  He shifted in his seat.  "Perhaps it would be better if he had, anyway."

I snap-turned to him. "What?!"

"He shouldn't have been there; narrow space would've meant little oxygen.  Tragic, but hardly our fault."

Silence as I stared at him in disgust for about six seconds.  "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."  And I walked back out the cockpit door. 

"You'd better check to see who he tried to call," he called out to me.

I examined Ned's phone.  It definitely was a lot newer and WAY fancier than mine.  It had tri-, no, everyband, and satellite capability.  10 pixel digital camera.  Writing pad with little stick a la Palm Pilot, so keying in stuff wasn't necessary.  Digital radio, mp3 and TV ready, both PAL and NTSC.  And a very basic e-mail capable web browser thingy.  No two ways about it; electronic miniaturization had really taken off since the Big Zap.  Then again, men needed a LOT of stuff smaller nowadays.

I unlocked the keypad.  It didn't ask for a password.  Tsk tsk tsk.  Very careless, Carter, very careless.  I promptly checked the call register's dialed numbers…

Urk.  The latest one was labeled, "Mum, Sheriff's MP."

I didn't want to see the photo section, but I entered there anyway. 

Double urk.  He'd gotten a photo of me sticking the boulder under Martissa's ute!

Triple urk!  The next pic read: Queensland 102-IYX.  He'd zoomed in on the license plate!

I quickly thumbed through the menu to delete these things, fearing this was locking the gate once the horse had already escaped.  But before I could, I surfed into a notepad feature by mistake.  And on the date, he'd written something just late last night.  I opened it.  The entry read: 

QLD 102-IYX
Mitsubishi L200 pickup ute
Prop. Crimson Cow Corp.
Cristofan crime family?

And another just today…

QLD 828-ROM
Black GMC Yukon XL Denali
Martissa Morgan (old woman/woman in Mitsu cab?)

Quad Espresso Urk. 

I harrumphed.  So much for Super Stealth Martissa, the Professional.  I bet the kid probably wouldn't have spotted me at all at church if she hadn't belted me and pushed her into her ride.  But I didn't feel smug or self-righteous.  It didn't matter if it were her fault or if I had just walked right up to him, unwrapped, and did the Johnny Bravo Check-the-Pecs dance.  He was here regardless.

Sliding down the cockpit's bulkhead, I sat on the plane's floor, slumped, and agonized over what to do next.

***

To be completed…

[Max]

It seems that things are turning more problematic for Monty. I wonder where all of this is going to end.

Great story my friend. Hope to see soon the full chapter.

Max

[Author]

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