SOMEWHERE ON A PARALLEL-EARTH

* * * * *

The two men walked into the lobby of the silvery-gray building. The placard above the reception desk read (in columnar fashion):

INTER-
DIMENSIONAL
EXPLORATION-AND
ENFORCEMENT
AGENCY

"Identicards, please?" requested the guard at the desk. The two men opened their wallets. On the outer flap of each left half was a solid gold badge shaped like a lightbulb. On the outer flap of each right half was a white card with a zebra code.

The guard laser-scanned the black and white stripes. And, both times the scanner's digital screen flashed the same red lettering.

"ID: CONFIRMED"

"ACCESS: GRANTED"

The guard immediately waved them towards the elevators to his right. Upon boarding the nearest one, a feminine-sounding monotone asked them what floor they wished to go to.

"Ivory Tower," said the one with salt-and-pepper hair.

"Retinalysis required," replied the monotone: "Please remove optical covering and gaze at security camera."

Both men took off their their sunglasses. Following which, twin beams of red light scanned their eyes.

"Retinalysis, complete," the monotone declared: "Identities, confirmed. Ascending to Level 13."

Upon exiting the elevator, at the specified floor, they walked abreast down a red-carpeted hallway to an office door with white plastic lettering adhered to its light-brown, wood-finished surface.

"MODERATOR-IN-CHIEF"

"PRIVATE"

Once more, they had their retinas and zebra codes scanned. But, with the added precaution of voice-print recognition. When they were cleared for entry, the well-armed secretary pressed a buzzer with her right hand (while simultaneously reholstering a semi-auto sidearm with her left).

"Agents 678 and 679 reporting, sir," said the senior partner as the younger man closed the office door behind him.

"Sit down, gentlemen."

"Thank you, sir," they chorused.

A few moments later, the Moderator asked them why they had so urgently requested to meet him, so far ahead of their regularly scheduled progress reports.

Agent 678 answered first: "Well, sir? We got an emergency call from the Chief Surveillant on Earth-DXM. It seems that the Wishbone Restaurant chain has established a Washington, D.C., franchise on that world."

"What???!" exclaimed the Moderator: "Is Stanley out of his mind? Civilian trans-dimensional traffic to that world is expressly _forbidden_ until it's finished readjusting to the existence of Mini's and Megas."

"A fact we personally reacquainted him with, sir, at the Chief Surveillant's office on Earth-MRG. He adamantly insists the place is not one of his."

"Then, how else does he explains its presence?"

"He ventured to guess that it might have been wished into existence at one of his legitimate branches. Perhaps, by a member of the Sizeloan Mafia..."

"Sitmobtia," his partner corrected.

"Whatever! ...as a front for some kind of illegal activity. Like the gun-running of shrink rays."

"Oh, Great Scott!" sighed the Moderator, as he massaged his thinning hair in exaspertation. Whereupon, Agent 679 raised his hand.

"Sir? I know it's unorthodox. But, why couldn't we just go to that place, order two Wishbone Specials, and simply _wish_ to know who's behind its establishment?"

The Moderator shook his head: "Too dangerous. If it is Sitmobtian, the granting of those wishes might tip them off. Follow the protocol. Go to Wishbone's corporate headquarters, and view their wish-granting records for the last one hundred sixty-eight hours. I want to know who pirated that franchise!"

"Yes, sir!" the two agents chorused. After which, they stood up and left his office. When he was alone, once more, the Moderator sighed again.

"Shrink rays on Earth-DXM. The one thing that world does _not_ need!"

tbc?

* * * * *

The young man was known on the Internet as "Jolly Roger" (or "J-Rog," for short) because of his computer piracy skills. He turned on the pc in his office, and waited for it to warm up. Half-humming/half-singing his favorite "Weird Al" Yankovic parody as he did so.

"Everything's a conspiracy...in its own way. La-dee-da-deed-da-dee-da. Da-da-da-da! Dee-doooooooo!"

When the computer was finally ready, he typed in his screen name and began checking his e-mail box for the latest contributions to "Theparanoidsareright.com." He smiled as he noticed that almost all of them were from his favorite contributor, screen-named "Doc Kraepelin."

The first one read: "Insta-message me, ASAP! It's a matter of life-and-death. Literally!"

All the other messages were repeats of the first, with the link-up line color-coded in blue. So, he hit "enter" on the first link and waited for Doc's avatar (the caricature of a balding, middle-aged man in a straight jacket) to appear.

The wait was barely two seconds long.

J-ROG: "Hey-hey! What do you say, Dr. K?"

DOC K: "Oh, Thank God! It's finally you."

J-ROG: "Who else were you expecting? The Fuller Brush Man?"

DOC K: "I'm serious, J. I think I'm in real trouble, this time."

J-ROG: "How so?"

DOC K: "I went to this new restaurant, out here. Wishbone's? And, there was a special item on their lunch menu that advertised it as coming with one magical wish. So, just for a lark, I ordered it. When I had finished it, I half-seriously wished to know the truth behind the Kecksburg UFO incident. And, you'll never guess what happened."

J-ROG: "So, don't waste my time, making me guess. Tell me, already."

DOC K: "I had a retrocognitive vision! And, it revealed to me that the UFO wasn't extra-terrestrial, in origin. It was _extra-dimensional!_ "

J-ROG: "WTF???!"

DOC K: "It's true! And, the crew of that ship--killed on impact, btw--were a humanoid man and woman, who had come here looking to shrink and enslave some of us as pets!!"

J-ROG: "Doc, have you been sniffing empty push-cream cans, again?"

DOC K: "Would you clam up and listen!!!? The vision I had somehow alerted the people these two humanoids worked for. They know I know that they exist. And, they might be coming for me, even as we speak! So, if something happens to me, I want you to have a copy of the proof I've amassed. Do you have a DVD handy for burning?"

J-ROG: "Sure thing. Give me a moment."

A few seconds later, Jolly Roger announced that the down-loading was complete. But, at first, there was no reply.

J-ROG: "Doc? You still there? I said, I'm all finished. Doc? Doc?!"

Almost immediately, he got this chilling reply.

VOREX: "I'm sorry, sir. But, the doctor is busy, right now. Satisfying my hunger pangs!"

tbc?

* * * *

As Agent 679 finished setting up the holographic projector, Agent 678 briefed the Chief Moderator about the fruits of their research.

"We back-tracked the wish in question to this particular hostelry."

He pointed to his junior partner, who activated the crystal ball-like projector. Immediately, there appeared the three-dimensional image of what looked like a giant log cabin. An image that slowly revolved until all three men could see a tan wooden sign hanging from a black wrought-iron mount.

Upon that sign was a gleaming white wishbone.

"You're looking at the Wishbone Inn. Located in the small-yet-notorious kingdom of Truasca, on the continent of Ceir-Nathan, on the parallel-Earth designated Neo-geo 08282008. Endemically known as 'Auwth.' "

Agent 678 explained how Auwth was a Tolkienesque world, with medieval-level technology co-existing alongside supernatural magic and folkloric beings. And, how Truasca and the rest of Ceir-Nathan had recently undergone a horrific dynastic war.

"It was therefore relatively easy for the innkeeper to set up shop on this world, without Stanley Wishbone sensing the trademark infringement."

"The innkeeper being...?" prompted the Moderator.

Agent 679 adjusted the projector's controls, so that the holograph of a young woman with reddish-brown hair and green eyes appeared. Whereupon, Agent 678 identified her as one Lorelai Allen; an expatriate super-witch from Earth-MRG.

"A super-witch?" echoed the Moderator, slightly alarmed.

"Well, to be more accurate, she's a former 'Demon Busters' groupie, who recently wished to _become_ a super-witch! After consuming a Wishbone Special in her hometown of Agoura, California."

"I see. What about the restaurant on Earth-DXM?"

"Believe it or not, it appears Stanley's wild guess about shrink ray gun-running was actually on target (no pun intended)! Several dozen such devices have somehow wound up in the hands of that world's U.S. Delta Force. Presumably, for future use against either the Athena League, the Growth Triumphant Society,...or both."

"But, still no clue as to the identity of the restauranteur, himself?"

Both agents shook their heads.

"Then, make the discovery of same your top priority for our next meeting."

Both agents nodded, and then left.

tbc?

Jolly Roger slipped the DVD into his DVR, and pressed "play." Within thirty seconds, the face of a middle-aged white man, with thinning brown hair and a five o'clock shadow. appeared on the screen.

"Rog? If you're viewing this, it means something has happened to me. I'm probably even dead! So, here's what I've amassed in the way of evidence."

Immediately, a computer-printed map came on the screen. A map of what looked like the planet Earth! Except, some of the continents were a little skewed (for lack of a better term).

"This is the Earth as it exists in a parallel-universe I saw in a vision. This continent, here, is called 'Sizeloa.' Its native inhabitants call themselves 'sizechangers.' And, some of them belong to a crime syndicate called 'the Sitmobtia.' "

"The Sitmobtia's most lucrative racket is traveling to other parallel-Earths...and abducting certain of their inhabitants by shrinking them!"

"These poor souls are then smuggled back to Sizeloa, where they're sold as 'exotic pets.' "

"In 1965, though, the Sitmobtia lost one of their dimension-hopping slaveships to a forerunner of the 'killer satellites' now orbiting Earth as part of the Strategic Defense Initiative. By that, I mean a geosynchronous version of the 'death-ray' cannon Nikola Tesla was working on, shortly before his death, in 1943!"

"And, _that_ is what crash-landed near Kecksburg, Pennsylvania, almost forty-five years ago."

"How do I know all this? I simply _wished_ to have the knowledge. I'm serious! There's a new eatery I heard about from Timescribe. He claims he entered this restaurant in Sydney, and ordered something called 'the Wishbone Special.' When he was done, he frivolously wished that Mel Gibson could get his movie-stardom back. The next thing he knew, he was exiting the restaurant...in Hollywood! As head writer of a murder-mystery, currently in production by Warner Brothers...and starring Mel Gibson!!"

"I looked this restaurant up in the Yellow Pages. And, it does exist. Along Hollywood Boulevard, just north of the intersection with Vine Street. So, I went there; ordered the Wishbone Special for myself; and the rest you already know."

"The only problem is, it's a front for the Sitmobtia! And, its manager has already notified his superiors that I have knowledge of their existence. So, I don't know how much longer I can remain safe. Not with a sizechanger assassin on my tail!"

"If anything should happen to me, go to the office of Raymond Venn. He's a private eye who's done some work for me, before. And, when it comes to being your only hope? He's better than Obi-wan Kenobi!"

"This is the late, great Doc Kraepelin...signing off."

tbc

* * * * *

The regular after-work crowd was starting to shuffle in when Lorelai Allen first spotted a familiar feathered cap.

"Thornsie? As I live and breath. Get over here, you, and give me a hug!"

As it pays to stay on the good side of a super-witch, Theophilus Thornton--wandering minstrel extraordinaire--smilingly did as instructed. He was accompanied (at a respectful distance) by two hooded figures with wooden walking staves.

"It's good to see you again, Thornsie. These folks know a lot of songs. But, let's face it; without you, as conductor, they put the 'harm' in harmony."

"Why, thank you, Milady!" Thornton laughed, giving an exaggerated bow in emphasis. It was at this point Lorelai noticed his traveling companions and asked for introductions.

"Oh! How rude of me. Mistress Lorelai Allen, proprietor of the Wishbone Inn? Meet Dr. Beaufort Fronkensteen of Gallascais, and his apprentice Froderic."

"Good evening, Mistress Allen," they chorused. She nodded in response, before adding:

"A doctor, eh? I'm afraid you won't get much call for your services around here!"

Replied Fronkensteen: "We are well aware of the...unique...state of health enjoyed by Truascan citizens, Mistress Allen. I am a doctor of alchemy, however. And, Froderic and I are merely on our way to Pereni to pay our respects to the new Dowager Wizardess."

Lorelai frowned: "Whatever else you do, when you get there, don't call her that to her _face_! Lady Arculae can be real vindictive. And, her magic is pretty powerful. Even by _my_ standards!!"

"Duly and gratefully noted," said Fronkensteen: "May we have a table for three, please?"

"Certainly! Any friends of Thornsie's are friends of mine."

She led them to just such a table by a small wooden platform with a large wooden bar stool upon it. Obviously, this was the stage from which Thornton would later be asked to sing some ballads. In the meantime, though, the three men were given menus that they studiously perused.

Ten minutes later, a buxom serving wench approached them for their orders. Thornton simply ordered mutton and mead. The two alchemists, however, ordered Wishbone Specials. It took half an hour to prepare all three orders. And, another forty-five minutes to consume them at a leisurely healthy rate.

Fronkensteen was the first to mutter his wish. Namely, that Lorelai Allen would truthfully answer any questions he put to her. While Froderic wished that she would be totally paralyzed (except for her mouth), after being asked the first question!

As a result, when she came up to inquire if they had enjoyed their meals, Fronkentsteen nodded. Following which, he asked:

"Who was it who ordered the Wishbone Special responsible for the restaurant in this image?"

Whereupon, "Froderic" (also known as Agent 679) activated the spherical holo-projector. Showing a three-dimensional image of a stucco-painted building with a neon sign that spelled out "Wishbone's" in orange cursive letters.

Lorelai gasped: she had been tricked! She tried to cast a retaliatory spell. But, she couldn't move a muscle! So, she tried with all her psychic might to restrain herself from answering. But, "Fronkensteen" (alias Agent 678) repeated the question. Leaving her no other choice but to comply. Although, she did so through gritted teeth.

"I...don't...know...his real...name. He...called himself...Yrac...Cimoc...of Dortchad."

"And, what did this Yrac Cimoc look like?"

"Like...an overgrown...Lex...Luthor. Or... a midget... Carel...Struycken. Depending...on your...pop-cultural...preference."

"Speaking of which; is it true you've never seen a single Mel Brooks movie in your entire life?"

"YES! I can't...stand...that...vintage...crap."

Agent 679 looked at the minstrel: "You were right."

"Told you so!"

The super-witch was shocked: "Thornsie! You're in league with these two?"

Whereupon, "Thornton" deactivated his fairy-made glamorizer. Causing Lorelai to gasp once more.

"S-S-Stanley!"

"That's 'Mr. Wishbone' to you, my dear. Here! Try a free sample of 'Spell-breaker' gas!"

One "whoosh" later, she was sneezing and coughing. Giving Stanley Wishbone time to whip out one of his patented shrink rays (which sort of resembled a bicycle headlamp). Thereby reducing the helpless super-witch to one inch tall!

"There! That should keep you manageable once the paralysis geas wears off. During which time, you and I are going to have a nice, LONG talk...about multiversal copyright laws."

"Thank you for your co-operation, Stanley," said Agent 678: "I know we're leaving her in...good hands."

Agent 679 dutifully chuckled at the pun. Following which, he and his mentor pressed the "return" buttons on their teleportational batons.

tbc

WASHINGTON, D.C.
AUGUST 11, 2009
(EARTH-DXM)


* * * * *

MarySue Smith winced in puzzlement, as she read the menu at Wishbone's Restaurant: "Blofat? What the heck is blofat?"

"A species of fish unique to Rock Lake, Wisconsin. We're the only restaurant on the East Coast that serves them," replied the waiter (with a slight amount of smug pride).

"Rock Lake?" echoed Starr (MarySue's New Age twin sister): "Oh! That's where those pyramid-shaped rocks are located! The ones that are supposed to be the gateway to a parallel-universe."

"Yeah, right!" snorted her sister: "I'll just have a hot-open turkey sandwich, please. With a cup of herbal tea on the side."

"Certainly," nodded the waiter: "And you, Miss?"

"I'll try this 'Wishbone Special," declared Starr: "That sounds deliciously intriguing."

"Ah! Good choice. Our manager claims that, with each full consumption of that meal, you get to make your fondest wish come true."

Starr's face lit up with a gleeful expression that was in proportionate contrast to the scowling countenance of MarySue. There was a time, not too long ago, when she would have openly tongue-lashed her sister for her neo-pagan beliefs. Public setting or not!

But, for the past five years, men and women who could alter their physical size at will--seemingly by magic--had been a reality that not even pragmatic MarySue could deny. And, as a paralegal for the U.S. Attorney General, himself, she liked to think she had seen and heard it all.

Starr, on the other hand, was a self-proclaimed psychic who worked as an astrologer for the NATIONAL INTELLIGENCER. And, yesterday, she had arrived in town to celebrate their mutual birthday.

The two ate their respective meals in silence. When they were finished, however, Starr looked at MarySue and bluntly commented that she knew what her twin was thinking.

"Really!" retorted the latter: "If you're going to make jokes at my expense, couldn't you be a little more original than that?"

"I'm serious! Despite everything that's happened around the world, these last five years, you still think most of what I believe in is poppycock."

"Giant-sized men and women are one thing, Starr. But, alternate universes containing Xerox copies of Earth? Puh-lease!"

"I wish there was someway I could convince you, Sis."

She said it without thinking. And, at that moment, hundreds of miles distant, a certain Midwestern body of water began to bubble and froth.

tbc

MEGA-WORLD (MIDDLE WESTERN SECTOR)

* * * * *

All three divisions had come down from Iron Mountain, on the Upper Peninsula of Superia. Their objective: the capture of Fort Tyranina to the south. This fort was the primary stronghold of the evil GTS-goddesses in this region. What the free-thinking humans on this world derisively called "an EGG carton."

Intelligence sources had revealed that the stronghold numbered mercenary sizevamps among its defenders. Which is why Samantha the Super-witch had recruited their arch-nemesis: Buffy the Sizevamp-Eater!

Even so, it was a see-saw battle. So fierce was the resistance, and so numerous the mercenaries, that Buffy's stomach was almost completely full after the first two hours of fighting. Mark--the demon serving the fort's EGG commander--sensed this, and advised that their best warrior be sent out to "dispatch" Buffy once and for all.

That warrior was EGG Sergeant Vanessa Comb. And, this "Battle of the Blondes," as it would be called in later years, was destined to end in a draw. For, after staggering out into the middle of Rock Lake (which, at their size, was more like a puddle), a strange thing happened.

A group of pyramidal rock formations, about eighty feet below the surface of the lake, began to glow with an eerie green light. That glow spread towards the legs of the two combatants, slowly creeping up over their knees; past their waists; and--finally--enveloping their heads. Upon doing so, they immediately began to do what most GTS-goddesses considered impossible.

They began to shrink!!!

At one hundred feet tall, the water was about three-fourths of the way up to Buffy's chest. Then, she shrank down to eighty feet. Fifty feet; thirty; ten!

At seven feet tall, the green light from the pyramids flared to blinding intensity. Until Buffy and her opponent were veritably camouflaged by the glow! Then, with one massive flash that lit up the entire lake bed, the pyramids went dark. And, both GTS-goddesses...were gone.

* * * * *

HEADQUARTERS, GROWTH TRIUMPHANT SOCIETY,
MADISON, WISCONSIN, EARTH-DXM (08/11/09)

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Sarah Kensington-Chelgren, as klaxon alarms began blaring all over the place.

"What? What is it?" her husband urgently inquired, as he came rushing out of his office.

"Massive t.d. disruption detected in Jefferson County. Rock Lake region!"

"How massive?"

"One hundred feet tall...and growing."

"Contact Voyeurman for preliminary recon."

"Already on it!"

* * * * *

Buffy could not remember a thing. Not even her own name! In fact, the only thing running through her mind, at that moment, was a weird, repetitive mantra.

"Must...go...to MarySue. Washington...D.C. Must...go...to MarySue. Washington...D.C."

tbc

CENTRAL ILLINOIS,
EARTH-DXM (8/11/09)

* * * * *

"She leveled off at a thousand feet once she strode past Peoria," reported Voyeurman: "If she keeps heading southward at her present rate, she'll be just west of Paducah, Kentucky, in less than ninety minutes."

"She'll find a reception committee waiting for her," remarked Sarah. Whereupon, she flicked a switch. Instantly, the giant flatscreen monitor changed to show an aerial view of the Ohio River. Specifically, the stretch separating southern Illinois and southwestern Kentucky.

"Those are Apache gunships from Fort Campbell," said Sarah, pointing to the large group of missile-toting assault helicopters converging on that stretch.

"And, I take it the mobile S.A.M. launchers and troop-laden Humvees are from Fort Knox?" asked Scott. It was more a statement than a question. But, his wife nodded anyway.

She then wondered aloud if this giantess could possibly have been recruited by the League. Scott answered that there was no way to ascertain that, at present. All they could do, for now, was watch her progress...and wait for official permission to intervene.

But, as this giantess was still instinctively circumnavigating around inhabited towns and structures, that permission had not yet come.

* * * * *

NEW YORK CITY, EARTH-MRG (8/11/09)

"Roger William Maddox" (a fake identity) debarked from the train at Grand Central Station. It had been a relatively smooth trip down, from Plattsburgh. But, he had been unable to enjoy it. He had felt like someone was watching him, the whole way!

He had not come here in a blind panic, however. He had done some "googling," before making his travel arrangements. And, sure enough, there was a Raymond Venn who worked as a private investigator in the NYC area. With an office on the second floor of a certain building along Madison Avenue.

Roger gave that address to the cabbie who approached him outside the station. And, the cabbie--to insure a good tip--put Roger's tow-along luggage into the trunk of his cab with the utmost care.

Which was most fortunate for the inch-high female sizechanger currently hitching a ride on it!

* * * * *

MEANWHILE, BACK ON EARTH-DXM...

The blonde giantess had reached the Ohio River, just as predicted. Whereupon, an army major shouted up to her (via "bullhorn" megaphone) to stop where she was and identify herself.

She stopped. Yet, she made no reply.

"I say again; identify yourself. And, your purpose."

This time, there was a response.

"Must...go...to MarySue. Washington...D.C."

"You aren't going anywhere until you've identified yourself!" shouted the major.

But, the blonde giantess did not answer her. Instead, she turned slightly to her left, and raised her right foot. Putting it down on the Kentucky side of the river.

And, in Washington, D.C., a Delta Force general (watching everything via satellite) grimly uttered three little words.

"Fire at will."

tbc

The Apaches began the assault by with a missile barrage backed up by machine gunfire. The armor-piercing bullets merely bounced off of her skin. Yet, the bright flashes from the incendiary air-to-air missiles and tracer bullets succeeded in attracting her attention. At which point, the major ordered the tank-like vehicles behind him to launch their surface-to-air missiles.

These projectiles, however, carried a chemical payload. One that quickly enveloped the head of the giantess in an almost opaque cloud!

Agents 678 and 679 watched all this on CNN, in their motel room near Washington D.C.'s Dulles International Airport. And, when the blonde giantess began coughing and sneezing, the latter lifted up his sunglasses to take a closer look.

"Correct me, if I'm wrong. But, doesn't her reaction sound awfully familiar?"

"Indeed it does," replied the senior agent: "That's Spell-breaker gas! And, weaponized, by the look of it. Evidently, Mr. Yrac Cimoc has been smuggling more than shrink rays to this world."

"Why would Delta Force be using it against a GTS-goddess, though?" asked his confused partner: "They have no inherent magic to neutralize."

"Except one," corrected Agent 678: "The aspect of their immortality that makes them invulnerable to shrink-rays! And, unless I'm mistaken, that's what those soldiers are going to employ, next."

He was right. The TV news cameras showed several dozen soldiers carrying what resembled overgrown thimbles! Naturally, most everyone assumed these were some new kind of bazooka (portable rocket-launcher). The grayish-white beams of light that subsequently issued from them, however, soon dispelled that notion.

"I see it, ladies and gentlemen," stated one reporter: "But, I almost can't believe it. This giantess is actually shrinking!! One thousand feet; eight hundred feet; five hundred."

Agent 678 turned off the cable television.

"I've seen enough. We move on Cimoc...now!"

Agent 679 merely nodded, and withdrew his teleporton (which now resembled a fully-collapsed Totes umbrella). His partner did the same. Whereupon, they each pressed a certain button, simultaneously. An action that transported them from the motel room...to the blind alley behind the ersatz Wishbone franchise.

They walked up to the back door and extended their respective right arms. On the fourth finger of each right hand was a ring that looked as if it were set with obsidian. And, the moment those hands were clenched into fists, needle-thin beams of red light issued from them. Red light that seeped down the left and right sides of the door from top to bottom.

Causing it to fall down inward with an unignorable "crash/bang."

"Homeland Security! Nobody move!"

tbc

* * * * *

"Homeland Security!" shouted Agent 678: "Nobody move!"

A bald, thin Caucasian--about 6'3" tall--came running out of the manager's office.

"Who are you?" he demanded: "What's the meaning of this?"

"Mr. Yrac Cimoc? We're Agents Foster and Grant; Homeland Security. And, we'd like you to come with us."

"Quietly," added Agent 679.

"Not until I see your credentials," replied Cimoc.

"Certainly," chorused the two men. Whereupon, they flashed their badges. The ones shaped like golden lightbulbs.

Cimoc gasped: "I.D.E.E.A. men!"

The very next moment, he whipped out what most witnesses would later describe to local police as a bicycle headlamp. Only, this headlamp shot a beam of grayish-white light that the two strangers shielded themselves from...by opening up their Totes umbrellas in perfect unison.

Prompting Cimoc to flee the scene by liquefying himself into a silvery white blob and slithering between and past them!!

"A Morpher!" shouted the older agent: "After him!"

They chased after the fugitive (who had resumed humanoid form) at a rate of speed that would have made Huseyn Bolt look like a toddler. Heading northwestward, up Massachusetts Avenue, toward the intersection of North Capitol Street...and Union Station.

"If he gets into the subway system, we'll lose him," shouted Agent 679, without seeming to reduce his stamina.

But, that potential escape route was evidently the last thing on the fugitive's mind. For, the next moment, without even breaking stride, he raised his left arm. He then pressed both sides of what appeared to be a Rolex watch. After which, a veritable tornado of white light materialized out of thin air. The top of its funnel horizontally pointing towards Cimoc!

"He's activated a crosstime warp," shouted Agent 678, skidding to a stop: "Analyze frequency."

The younger man was already on it, holding his "umbrella" outward, in a vertical fashion. Just like his partner.

"Frequency analyzed...and matched!"

So, just as the Morpher dove through the crosstime warp in his naturally shapeless state, the two agents activated crosstime warps of their own. Subsequently appearing to melt into the sidewalk beneath their feet!

Two seconds later, all three "tornadoes" dissipated.

* * * * *

At that same moment, somewhere beneath the Pentagon, General Michaelsen of Delta Force was conversing, via satellite link, with Major Amanda Kendall in Kentucky.

"Say again, Major?"

"I said, sir, that the 'giantess' we captured...transmogrified."

Whereupon, she held up a hamster cage, containing a three-inch tall white man in late teens/early twenties!

"How is that possible?" the general in a bewildered half-whisper.

"We don't know, sir. On preliminary interrogation, the prisoner identified himself as one Bernard Pfeiffer-Drummond. And, that the last thing he remembers, prior to our capturing him, is participating in a role-playing board game called 'Sizecraft.' We've done some checking. And, it is a legitimate rpg. Released just this past Christmas by an outfit called Gray Fox Novelties. Which seems to be owned, in turn, by an off-shore corporation known as CTG Enterprises."

"I'll contact the Justice Department," declared Michaelsen: "See if some of their forensic accountants can dig up further information on that outfit."

"What about the prisoner, sir?"

"Bring him back here, ASAP. He might have been hypno-blocked. If so, our medics might be able to erode it."

"Will do, sir. Kendall; signing off."

* * * * *

485 MADISON AVENUE,
MANHATTAN, EARTH-MRG

If he had not been so preoccupied, "Roger William Maddox" might have noticed it sooner. Here it was, the middle of August. And, his cabbie was wearing a black leather jacket and a flat gray cap like it was late fall!

Trying not to arouse suspicion, as they came to a stop in front of the office building, Roger looked at the photo-registration of the cabbie while half-pretending to reach for his wallet.

"How much do I owe y...?"

He cut himself off when he saw the name on the registration.

"Venn, Raymond."

tbc

"Roger Wm. Maddox" was so momentarily distracted, he initially failed to hear the cabbie's reply.

"What?!"

"$52.95, sir. That's how much the fare is."

"Oh! Sorry!"

Roger passed a fifty-dollar bill through the slot of the plexiglass partition, followed by a five dollar bill.

"Keep the change."

"Thank you, sir!"

Whereupon, both men debarked from the taxi. As the cabbie stooped to unlock the trunk, Roger considered a multitude of ways in which to broach the subject. Finally, he decided to be direct. So, he leaned down and whispered:

"Doc Kraepelin told me you were a private detective."

"I am. This just seemed the most discrete way to pick you up at the station."

"Discrete? If I were headed for opening night at the Radio City Christmas Show, maybe. But, right now, it must be close to eighty degrees in the shade!"

Raymond Venn--thirtyish, with brown eyes and matching wavy hair--looked up at his client and half-smiled.

"I'll explain everything inside. Right now, though..."

He never finished that thought. Instead, he looked at back at the trunk with a deep frown. Then, in a blur of motion that left "Roger" dizzy from eyestrain, he threw open the trunk; grabbed the towbar of the suitcase; and started twirling over and around his head, in clockwise circle, with just his right arm!

Yet, that was not the climax of this weird spectacle. What really astonished "Roger" was the faint yelling that seemed to come from high in the air, as something flew upward from the suitcase!

"Ed! Grab her!!"

"Uh-uh-uh-uh!"

Thirty seconds later, a trained fish crow alighted on top of the taxi cab, with something clasped firmly in its beak. Raymond Venn withdrew that something, and showed it to his client. The latter gasping at seeing that "it" was really a "she."

"Doc wasn't kidding," said the mysterious private detective: "You really _are_ in trouble. This is Vorexia Jones; one of the Sitmobtia's leading hit people."

tbc

* * * * *

"Roger" had heard about the indifference of New York City residents. But, he still could not believe it when none of the passers-by in the lobby gave him a second look, as he waited for one of the first floor elevators alongside the incongrously-garbed Raymond Venn, and the pet fish crow perched on the latter's right shoulder.

Five minutes later, all three of them were in Room 203. Officially known as the "Ray Venn Detective Agency," the frosted glass window of the outer door was decorated with the encircled silhouette of a Corvus corax cranium.

As for Venn's unusual prisoner? He bound her with a chain that appeared to be made of sterling silver. He then dropped her (none too gently) into an empty mayonnaise jar.

"Uhm! Mr. Venn...?"

"Call me 'Ray.' "

"Ray. At the risk of sounding histrionic; WHAT THE BLUE BLAZES IS GOING ON HERE???"

Venn smiled as he sat down behind his desk.

"A fair enough question. You might as well take a load off, too, though, while we wait for our mutual acquaintance to revive."

The computer pirate did as instructed. Whereupon, Venn began his recitation.

"First off? Vorexia, here, was once plain old (well, let's be fair, and say 'middle-aged') Veronica Jones. An on-line author of macrophiliac science fiction. You might have read some of her work. She used the screen name, 'Vore X.' Anyway; one night, she goes out to a restaurant called Wishbone's, and orders the house specialty. What does she wish for? To become a sizechanger, like the anti-heroes in her stories! The next thing she knows, she's in a collegiate-looking classroom, on a parallel-Earth, surrounded by a dozen strangers from all walks of life. And, with a sentient blob of protoplasm called a 'Masterchemi' as their teacher!"

A year after graduating from Nusi Academy, Veronica began hanging out with a male sizechanger named Voracio. On their third date, he took her to a Sizeloan nightclub that featured a most unusual animal act.

The "animals" were little people!

Ranging in size from two to six inches in height, they were forced by their female "owner/trainer" to walk across slender wires and jump through fiery hoops. Afterwards, Voracio took Veronica backstage to get a closer look at the cute little "things."

This included watching Voracio and the other woman devouring some of the "creatures" alive!

"She got so turned on, she joined the other two almost instantly. Resulting in an all-night, anthrophagic menage-a-trois! And, that was how she was introduced to the gray market world of human pets. Six months later, she was working for the Sitmobtia. Initially, as a feeder and cage cleaner. Then, as an apprentice trapper. And, ultimately, a hit woman. Specializing in the elimination of busy-bodies from S.E.T.H."

"S.E.T.H?" echoed "Roger."

"Sizeloans for the Ethical Treatment of Humans. It's a group of human-rights activists, trying to get the human pet trade abolished on all four of the continents that make up the Sizeloan Commonwealth."

Venn's client incredulously shook his head, while pinching the bridge of his nose, with his left hand, at the same time.

"How do you know all this?" he finally asked.

"Simple. I'm the one who killed her boyfriend."

tbc

Before "Roger" could ask his host to elaborate, there was a shrill scream from within the mayonnaise jar.

"Venn? Venn, you dirty...!"

The object of her venomous tirade covered the opening of the jar with the palm of his left hand. Thereby muffling the rest of her epithets. He removed it only after she finally appeared to run out of breath.

"Hello, Vorexia. Long time/no see."

"I swear; when I get out of here...!"

"Not likely to happen, sweetheart. That chain is pure stagnatanium. You're stuck at that size for the duration!"

"Stagnatanium?" echoed the other man: "Let me guess; that's Sizeloan kryptonite."

Venn smiled: "Now, you're catching on."

What still mystified "Roger," however, is just how Venn had known the sizechanger had stowed away in the trunk of the taxicab.

"Let's just say that I have a unique sixth sense, and leave it at that. For now, anyway."

"Fair enough. What about me, though? If these Sitmobtians considered me a threat, before, simply from having talked with Doc K, then I'm bound to be regarded as twice as dangerous, now."

Venn nodded: "Sad, but true. So, until I can find out just how they infiltrated the Wishbone Restaurant chain, I'll have to take you to someplace else for safekeeping. The one place even they won't dare go!"

"Which would be where, exactly?"

Venn smiled, and merely pressed both sides of what looked like a Rolex watch. The crosstime warp it activated made "Maddox" jump in his seat. But, the surprises did not end there. For, the next instant, "Maddox" found himself shrinking to one inch tall!

Venn joined him, two seconds later. After which, Edgar Allen Crow (as Venn shamelessly introduced him) jumped down from his perch. Bowing his head so the two shrunken men could climb aboard his neck!

The well-trained bird flew through the warp just before it closed. As a result, the size-changing private eye only heard the first part of Vorexia's renewed demands to be released or else.

* * * * *

The disparate trio emerged over what "Maddox" initially presumed to be the Pacific Ocean surrounding Hawaii. That is; until Venn set him straight.

"Welcome to Humanitaria! Capital of the Size Islands."

tbc

The Smithsonian Institution Shelter had been built on the summit of Mt. Whitney, circa 1909, as both an astronomical observatory and a center of research into high-altitude meterological phenomena. But, with the advent of high-altitude aviation, it was abandoned as redundant. Nor did mountain climbers use it to shelter themselves from bad thunderstorms, anymore, as it supposedly acted as one big, square-shaped lightning rod!

Or, at least, that was what Yrac Cimoc's employers had wanted the general public to think.

The fugitive Morpher emerged from the crosstime warp in his silvery gelatinous state. He swiftly resumed humanoid form, however, in order to withdraw his shrink ray gun...and set it for overload. Following which, he opened the front door of the deserted cabin and ran outside.

Thirty seconds later, his two pursuers materialized inside the cabin, as well. Instantly, they withdrew their teleportons (still disguised as Totes umbrellas) in order to repel any kind of ambush their quarry might have laid. Yet, they saw nothing but the seemingly empty interior of the cabin.

That was when the high-pitched sound finally registered with Agent 678.

"Out through the windows!" he shouted to his young partner. The latter followed his lead without hesitation, diving through the rotten wood of the boarded-up apertures.

A minute later came the massive explosion. It was heard and felt all the way into nearby Harrisburg! Of course, the residents of that unincorporated town thought it was just another approaching thunderstorm. Had they been at the scene, however, they would have been shocked to see a ten-foot deep crater in place of the cabin. They would also have been puzzled to find a dollhouse-sized replica of the cabin at the bottom of that crater!

The two agents closed up their "umbrellas," thereby deactivating the protective forcefields. Agent 679 then extended his teleporton vertically; sweeping it from left to right and back again.

"Too much residue from the overload," he said: "Wherever he warped to, from here, we can't trace him."

"At least we know the warp's frequency," replied the older agent: "We'll give it to the Chief Surveillants, both here and on Earth-DXM, so they can have their own people monitor for it."

"What about the mega-giantess that was shrunk and captured back there?"

"I think Agents Foster and Grant, of Homeland Security, should pay a visit to the Pentagon. To see how Delta Force is doing with questioning her."

* * * * *

It is said that great minds think alike. If so, Scott Chelgren would have to be classified as having as great a mind as Agent 678. For, at that moment, he was listening to transmissions of the aforementioned interrogation, courtesy of the Phantom Voyeur!

The prisoner had been put into a narcohypnotic trance by a forty-one year old (yet, still somewhat attractive) redhead named Dr. Frances Messimer. Following which, she asked him his name.

"Barney. Barney...Pfeiffer-Drummond."

"And, where do you come from, Barney?"

"Harrisburg...Pennsylvania."

"By what means did you undergo your transgender metamorphosis?"

"Huh?"

"What turned you into a thousand-foot tall giantess?"

"A...magic...card."

"You mean, like a regulation deck of fifty-two cards?"

"No! It...was...an rpg...card."

"I see. And, what is the name of this role-playing game?"

"Size...craft."

"Do you usually play a mega-giantess in this game?"

"No! This time...forced...on me."

"By whom?"

"New...kid...in my...class...at...school. William...Something."

"You don't know his last name?"

"Can't...pronounce it. Might be...Greek."

"What about MarySue? When you were captured, you were muttering something about needing to find a girl by that name. Who is she? I mean; what's her full name?"

"MarySue...Smith."

The moment Sarah Kensington-Chelgren heard that name, she typed it into the mainframe computer, at G.T.S. HQ. In less than a minute, she had the answer. And, it was not a pleasant one.

"She works for the DOJ, Scott. As the Attorney-General's personal representative on the Joint Task Force!"

Her husband's reply was concise and unequivocal: "Oh, crap!"

tbc

Once the two agents had returned to their headquarters, Yrac Cimoc came out of hiding. He had disguised himself as a fulgurite outcrop just before the cabin imploded.* But, now that he no longer needed to hide in plain sight, he changed into a California gull and flew off to the Devil's Hole area of Death Valley.

Upon reaching those notorious hot springs, he went into a power dive and plunged beneath the surface!

When the momentum from that high dive had abated, he changed yet again. This time, into a Slovenian olm roughly the size of a marine iguana. In that form, he followed the subterranean aquifers of the American West Coast northward.

All the way to Crater Lake National Park in southern Oregon.

It took him the remainder of the day to get there. Consequently, it was nightfall when he emerged out of an old fumarole in the lake floor and changed into a hefty-looking salmon. In that form, he swam all the way to the shores of Wizard Island. Emerging from the shallows as an emperor penguin!

After resting for two or three hours, he turned into an overgrown barred owl and flew toward the northwest. Specifically; the Linn County town known as...Harrisburg, Oregon. And, there, he alighted on the roof of a small novelty shop. The sign for which bore the logo of a gray fox. When the store's owner arrived at six o'clock that morning, he found Yrac Cimoc--once more in humanoid form--waiting to be his first customer of the day.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the former (who could have passed for Yrac's slightly shorter twin).

"I must speak with His Lordship. Immediately!"

"Come inside, quickly! Before some other early bird sees you."

The two Morphers hurried through the public area of the store, into the backroom, and down into the basement. There, the store's owner unlocked an old-fashioned rolltop desk. And, inside the large central cubby hole of that desk was what resembled a Philco Predicta portable TV set (circa 1962).

Only the image that came on its screen, when it was remotely activated, showed a plethora of living colors that no art critic in the world would have been able to find words for! These colors were swiftly eclipsed, however, by a humanoid silhouette that spoke in an electronically-distorted voice.

"What is the meaning of this untimely communication?"

Both Morphers dropped down to one knee, bowing their heads in abject humility.

"Forgive me, Milord. But, my cover--as the humans say--has been blown! Two I.D.E.E.A. men came to my restaurant, on Earth-DXM, and tried to take me in. I have eluded them. But, they are bound to be monitoring for my crosstime warp-frequency. I urgently request a decoy, so I can return to the Stronghold, undetected."

"You fool!!!" replied the silhouette: "You should have gone with them, peaceably. They would merely have taken you to one of their local branch facilities for routine interrogation. Your augmentation would have stymied any cursory biometric scan. But, by needlessly panicking as you did...!"

"If it please Milord," interrupted the store owner: "Cimoc is a fool, I agree. However, there might be a subtle way to determine whether or not our plans are jeopardized."

The silhouette paused to consider this before responding.

"Do tell."

tbc

* * * * *

Edgar landed atop a stone bench near the edge of a cliff. A mile out to sea, from this cliff, was a long coral reef. And, "Jolly Roger Maddox" (herein after referred to as "J-Rog") could not help admiring the view even as he and Ray Venn debarked from the back of the fish crow's neck.

A moment later, the two men were back to what J-Rog was desperately trying to continue regarding as normal size.

"So, you're a sizechanger, too?" he finally found the courage to ask.

"Well, technically, I'm a sizehu. Half-human/half-sizechanger. You see, my father was originally a night watchman at F.A.O. Schwartz.* And, one night, he was attacked by a subspecies of vampire that shrinks the bodies of its victims as a consequence of draining their life-force! Fortunately, for him, the sizevamp was counter-attacked and slain by a doll-clubber named Kundalina."

Ray then revealed that "doll-clubber" was the slang term for those sizechangers who shrank to doll-size, in order to play with lonely pre-school Earth children. Especially those that had been orphaned by Sitmobtia slave raids.

"Kundalina's latest such playmate had gone off to boarding school, the year before. So, Kundalina decided to hang out with some fellow doll-clubbers at F.A.O. Schwartz. That's where she first laid eyes on my then-future dad. Becoming so smitten with him, that all she did for the next twelve months was watch him make his nightly rounds."

After decapitating the sizevamp (with a gigantized Swiss army knife), Kundalina brought the night watchman to the hospital on Humanitaria for emergency treatment. For not only was Sizeloan medical science more advanced than that of Earth. The Size Islands were also the only place on her homeworld where normal humans could lead relatively normal lives. Free from exploitation and discrimination!

"What about the Sitmobita?" asked J-Rog: "What's to stop them from making slave raids here?"

"Me!" replied a voice that sounded like distant thunder: "These islands are under _my_ protection."

J-Rog looked out in the direction of the coral reef and gasped. For there, he saw a topless giantess...grinning at him! Her billboard-sized face supported by the palms of her hands, while her elbows rested atop the reef.

Ray (who had finally taken off his black leather jacket) introduced them: " 'Roger Wm. Maddox, Esquire?' Meet Sizae-oni; GTS-goddess of the sea."

tbc

* * * * *

"Barney? Barrrrrr-ney!" came the sing-song voice: "Time to wake up, little one. You have visitors."

Barney opened his eyes and yawned. For a moment, he thought he was back home, in his own bedroom. But, it all came flooding back to him when he saw her face. That giant, bespectacled, green-yed face with the reddish-gray hair styled in a bun!

Dr. Messimer smiled at the gasp that came from her tiny little subject. She then nodded to the trio of people standing slightly behind her, and to her right.

"This is MarySue Smith, from the Joint Task Force on the Transition to a New World Order. And, these gentlemen are Agents Foster and Grant from the Department of Homeland Security."

The woman was about fifteen years younger than Dr. Messimer and resembled a Jackie Onassis fan-girl. What with her blue eyes; raven-black hair (in a pageboy cut); and gray midi-skirt with matching blazer (over a white blouse). The men, on the other hand, could have been clones of Hugh Weaving from THE MATRIX trilogy!

Marysue bent down for a closer look into the hamster cage.

"This?! This is the so-called 'giantess' who kept reciting my name like a Buddhist mantra? With all due respect, Dr. Messimer, I find that very hard to believe. Despite the current state of the world!"

"On the contrary, Ms. Smith. Transgender metamorphosis, induced by a metaphysically-enhanced boardgame, is something that I would deem _most definitely_ part-and-parcel of today's world! But, that is irrelevant compared to the fact that G-2's initial findings were verified by your own experts at the Justice Department.* Namely; that Gray Fox Novelties is owned by CTG Enterprises of Canberra, Australia."

"Precisely, Doctor," nodded the younger woman: "And, the main clearinghouse for Gray Fox is on Santa Catalina, off California. So, pursuant to a Federal warrant, that clearinghouse is being inspected by the FBI, even as we speak. Let me assure you that any copies of 'Sizecraft' that they come across will immediately be confiscated, and shipped to DARPA for a thorough examination. In the meantime, though..."

Here, Marysue looked down at Little Barney and half-smiled.

"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to conduct an interrogation of my own. Is there someplace where I could talk to your 'patient,' in private?"

Dr. Messimer smiled back: "Of course! If you'll excuse us, gentlemen?"

"Go right ahead, ladies," replied Agent 678 (alias Agent "Foster"): "We have to go back to our office and write up a suitable progress report, anyway."

As they exited the Pentagon, five minutes later, Agent 679 looked at his partner and whispered: "You know that Catalina clearinghouse will be a dead end for the Bureau."

Agent 678 nodded: "Next stop, for us; Canberra."

tbc

SIZE ISLAND OF HUMANITARIA,
SIZELOAN HOMEWORLD (08/11/09)

* * * * *

" 'Roger William Maddox, Esquire?' Meet Sizae-oni; GTS-goddess of the sea."

J-Rog weakly waved his right hand in greeting. Sizae-oni giggled and responded in kind with her giant fish-like tail. As a result, both men wound up being splashed with huge droplets of saltspray!

"When Ray telepathed me that he was bringing a blue-eyed blond Earthman here, I just had to come see for myself, in person. Humans with your hair and eye color are such a rarity in these parts."

"Uhm! Thank you."

Then, J-Rog realized something. He looked at Ray.

"Telepath? You mean, you're a mind-reader, too?"

"More of a transceiver," replied the sizehu: "A fringe benefit of my dad's semi-vampirized DNA. Watch!"

Ray closed his eyes, and placed his left index finger on his forehead. Almost instantly, J-Rog's mind was filled with the image of a list of fictional metals from Wikipedia! Specficially; the portion of the list beginning with "S."

"Stagnatanium: a magic power-dampening metal first mentioned in THE DEMON BUSTERS episode, 'Barefoot/Pregnant/Chained To The Stove.' "

"DEMON BUSTERS?" echoed J-Rog, out loud, in complete puzzlement.

"The Sizeloan counterpart of CHARMED," explained Ray: "It's a very popular show, here. And, that episode inspired me to get a supply of the stuff via Wishbone Special."

J-Rog frowned: "Is that all I'm going to be able to do here, while you're off doing whatever it is _you_ have to do, to get the Sitmobtia off my back? Watch TV?"

"Of course not," smiled Ray: "That's another reason I telepathically called ahead to Sizae-oni. You're going to be staying with her for a few days."

Whereupon, the aforementioned sea goddess lunged forward and swiped J-Rog off the top of the cliff! Laughing as she did so. J-Rog was initally too stunned to ask what was so funny. Then, he found out, as she placed him in her mouth...and under her tongue.

"Hey! Wait a mmmmmmmph!"

Ray grinned like the proverbial canary-eating cat as he waved good-bye to Sizae-oni, who merely nodded in response, this time, before diving back under the sea.

To panic-stricken J-Rog, it seemed like forever that he was trapped under the sea-goddess' tongue. In truth, however, it only took her five minutes, at most, to return to her vast undersea cave. When she sprang up, out of the entrance pool, she crawled over to her monumental throne and sat down, before extracting her little guest.

She could not help grinning as he sputtered (mostly with indignation) in the palm of her right hand.

"Hey! Wha....phoof!...What's the big...phoof! phoof!...idea?"

"Relax, little one. I apologize for the mischievous way I brought you, here. But, the exact location of my home is a secret. One that I don't share with anyone. Not even my best friends on Humanitaria!"

"I guess I should feel privileged. And, I probably would be...if I weren't soaking wet with saliva, at the moment."

"No problem," Sizae-oni replied. Whereupon, she reached down to what looked like a giant cosmetics case. From this, she withdrew a sponge the size of a boulder. She then stripped J-Rog down to his tighty-whiteys, so she could thoroughly dry him off with it!

When she was finally done doing that, J-Rog took a closer look at his surroundings. Only then did he notice how bright it was in the cave. Courtesy of the bioluminescent barnacles that clung to the orange limestone walls like conical pieces of Velcro.

He whistled in genuinely astounded admiration.

"Incredible place you have here!"

"Thank you," replied his hostess: "Would you like a guided tour of it? Or, would you prefer to postpone that in favor of some other...entertainment?"

She emphasized that last part with a suggestive grin and wink.

tbc

NEW YORK CITY,
EARTH-MRG
AUG. 11, 2009

* * * * *

Edgar Allen Crow emerged from the crosstime warp over Central Park. Ray, still clinging to the bird's neck, pressed his imitation Rolex watch a second time. Thereby deactivating the warp.

"Best innovation Cross Time Gifts has ever marketed," he muttered with a grin. He then looked around, spotting 5th Avenue roughly to their northeast. Edgar banked accordingly. And, five minutes later, Ray had re-enlarged himself on the roof of 485 Madison Avenue.


The fish crow was telepathically instructed to fly down to the ledge outside Ray's office window, and see how Vorexia was doing. As for Ray, himself? One temporary shrinkage of a certain trap door, and he was descending a certain maintenance ladder to a janitorial supply closet on the top floor of the building. From there, it was just a prosaic elevator ride to the lobby, and a sixty-second walk to the Wishbone's Restaurant franchise next door.

"Hey, Ray!" exclaimed Valerie Zoftigova, as he came in.

"Hi, Val. I'd like a Wishbone Special, plus a bacon cheeseburg and two coffees. All to go."

"Sure thing, honey. If you asked really nice, though, you could even have ME to go. When I...'get off,' later tonight."

The buxon blonde headwaitress winked as she said this.

Ray smiled and gave a countering wink: "That might be...'premature,' Val. I'm in the middle of a case, right now."

"Your loss, honey."

"Of that, I have no doubt. By the way; give my congratulations to Stan."

"For what?"

"I read on the Internet that he just opened a new branch in L.A. Near Hollywood and Vine."

"Heh! First I've heard of it."

By this means did Ray confirm what J-Rog had told him in their on-line chat, prior to the latter's train trip down from Plattsburgh. So, that was where he would start his interrogation of Vorexia.

Ten minutes later, he re-entered the lobby of 485 Madison. Waiting until he was inside the elevator before shrinking one of the coffees and the bacon cheeseburg.

"Hope your hungry, Vorexia. Because, unless your very co-operative, this could quite literally be your last meal."

He had no sooner finished uttering this, as he entered through his office door, when he heard Edgar begin cawing in alarm!

Ray dropped the food as he saw the stagnatanium chain unwrap itself from around the inch-high sizechanger and shapeshift into an equally tiny bald man. And, in the time it took him to withdraw his 9mm Smith & Wesson Model 39, Vorexia shattered the mayonnaise jaw with the re-enlargement of herself and the Morpher.

The latter withdrew what looked like a pipe bomb from his blue blazer, so Ray fired at him first.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM-BLAM! BLAM!

The bullets, however, merely splashed into him, as if Ray had been firing into quicksand. Giving Vorexia time to jump off the desk, her right hand grasping a letter opener enlarged to the size of a machete!

"Yahhhhhhhhhh!" she screamed, with a wild-eyed expression worthy of a medieval Viking berserker.

Ray, with no time to readjust his aim at normal size, hurriedly shrank himself down to an inch tall. Causing Vorexia to miss him entirely, when she landed. He then re-enlarged, just as swiftly, and lashed out with his left leg. Kicking her in the butt!

She fell and landed, face-first. Allowing Ray to return his attention to the armed Morpher. But, the latter had jumped down behind Ray's desk, and was aiming the "pipe bomb" while kneeling on one knee. Forcing Ray to shrink out of the line of fire, again.

KA-ZAP! KA-ZAP! KA-ZAP!

Three ruby-red streaks of light passed overhead. Leaving charred marks on the left-hand wall of the hallway outside the office. This left Ray no choice. He dropped to his stomach, re-enlarging himself at the same time.

Upon reaching normal size, he shot out the office window, allowing Edgar to fly inside. The Morpher, suitably distracted, turned to aim his weapon at the bird. Only to have it, and his ersatz middle finger, shot away by yet another round from Ray's Model 39!

Yet, while the sizehu detective was preoccupied with the Morpher, Vorexia had regained her second wind...and her senses. She changed her tactics and shrank down to six inches tall. While keeping the letter opener proportionately machete-sized!

In this way, she planned to sneak up on Ray from behind, shrink him down to half her size,...and amputate his left foot.

But, quoth the fish crow: "Uh-uh-uh!"

He dive-bomed the Sitmobtian hit woman. Knocking her flat on her shrunken back, and impaling her through her head with his beak. Once; twice; thrice!!

The Morpher, seeing he was out-numbered and out-classed, chose the better part of valor and beat a hasty retreat. Resuming a gelatinous form, flowing out the broken window, and landing in the gutter outside the office building. Whereupon, he flowed through the nearest sewer building.

Ray did not even bother attempting to follow all that with his eyes. His gaze was centered on the laser beam-emitting "pipe bomb" the Morpher had left behind.

"A Sizeloan molecular disruptor," he mused, half-aloud: "Now, how the heck did a Morpher get hold of one of these? And, what's a Morpher doing, working for the Sitmobtia, at all?"

Edgar gave two "uh's" in reply.

"You're right, Ed. This does call for a little psychometry."

tbc

SISKIYOU COUNTY, CALIFORNIA
EARTH-DXM (AUG. 12, 2009)

* * * * *

Agents 678 and 679 reported to the monitoring station, atop Mount Shasta, to see what its resident operations manager had picked up.

"As per the Chief Surveillant's orders, I've been watching for sudden surges in power matching the described warp-frequency. This is what I picked up."

He showed them a list.

"Harrisburg, Oregon: Earth-MRG
Harrisburg, Nebraska: Earth-DXM
Ashford, Nebraska: Earth-MRG
Harrisburg, South Dakota: Earth-DXM
Manson, Iowa: Earth-MRG
Iowa County, Wisconsin: Earth-DXM
Natrona County, Wyoming: Earth-MRG"

"We lost him after that," continued the ROM: "Due to geomagnetic interference from the old Cloud Creek Meteor crater."

"Clever," replied Agent 678: "From there, Cimoc could resume his normal state, and flow straight for the nearest public transport without detection."

"What puzzles me," his partner remarked: "...is why a Morpher would be working for the Sitmobtia, in the first place. They're pretty ethnocentric. Considering themselves better than all single-shape races put together!"

"Perhaps we'll find the answer to that question in Australia. What do you have for us on CTG Enterprises?"

The ROM activated his holosphere (identical to that used by the agents; though not as portable).

"It started out as 'Cross Time Gifts.' A Swiss watch-making firm founded in Nova Friburgo, Brazil (circa 1930) by Signor Gian-Carlo Della Croce. An emigre' from Ticino-canton, Switzerland. In 1935, he married Suziko Honda, a niho-brasiliero from Sao Paulo. And, in 1948, they emigrated to Portuguese Timor, Indonesia. Forty years later, their children sold the company to 'Dai-No-Byte' (a Japanese electronics concern), who promptly relocated it to Canberra, for the manufacturing of digital Rolex knock-offs. It's expanded, diversified, and obviously been re-named, since then."

"Precisely, where in Canberra are they headquartered?" asked Agent 678.

"Black Mountain Tower," replied the ROM. Whereupon, he called up the holograph of an impressive-looking edifice. Snow-white exterior; roughly pear-shaped structure; and dozens of telecommunication satellite dishes.

"One word of warning, though," concluded the ROM: "It's the middle of subequatorial winter in Australia. So, dress for inclement weather."

Both agents nodded, before activating their teleportons, and departing.

RAY VENN DETECTIVE AGENCY,
485 MADISON AVENUE,
NEW YORK CITY (EARTH-MRG)

* * * * *

It would arguably have been the ultimate verbal irony to describe Vorexia Jones as being so angry that she was fit to be tied. For what seemed like the two hundredth time, she threw herself against the glass wall to her right. It was her intention of knocking the mayonnaise jar on to its side in the hopes that it would roll off the desktop, fall to the floor, and break on impact. And, hopefully, loosen her chains, as well!

But, that worthless sizehu freak had bound her too tightly. Her blood's circulation was so slowed down, she could barely stand up anymore. Let alone, gather enough momentum, for another spring, by hopping up and down in one place.

Then, she saw it. A stream of silvery white liquid snaking its way through the mail slot in Venn's office door!

This liquid quickly assumed the form of a bald Caucasian with a Navy-blue suit.

"Etag? Etag, down here! Help!!"

"Vorexia? My-my-my! How ever did you get yourself in such a pickle?"

"That would be a lot funnier, smart ass, if this had been a jar of relish. Now, shut up and get me out of here!"

Yet, all the Morpher did was pick up the jar and shake it rather violently.

"So sorry, my dear. I don't believe I heard you, correctly. What was that you said?"

The momentarily-powerless sizechanger shook the dizziness out of her head, before rephrasing her request (with gritted teeth).

"Would you, _please_, get me out of here, and remove this chain?"

"Certainly, my dear. After all; it hardly goes with that lovely orange pants suit of yours!"

Twenty-five seconds later, Vorexia and Etag Thron were conversing with each other, eye-to-eye.

"At the risk of seeming ungrateful; how the frig did you know I was here?"

"His Lordship was concerned by the cessation of your psionic link. So, he sent me to find out what happened. I hope your brief incarcertaion wasn't too...'jarring?'"

This time, Vorexia clenched her fists in additon to gritting her teeth.

"If you didn't have that augmentation..."

"Spare me the empty threats, and answer my earlier question."

So, she told him how Venn had telepathically detected her presence in the trunk of his gypsy cab. And, then, how he had captured her.

"He and the target went to Sizeloa. How long they'll be there, I don't know. But, the moment Venn comes back? I'm cutting that freak's head off with THIS!"

She picked up one of the letter openers on the desk and enlarged it to machete size.

"Just so long as you don't damage his crosstime warp-generator," replied the Morpher: "We'll need that to backtrack where he hid the target!"

"That will require lulling him into a false sense of security," grinned Vorexia: "And, I know the perfect way to do so! It will, however, require a little blind faith from you. Would you be willing to submit yourself to your own shrink ray?"

Ninety seconds later, Vorexia was back in the jar. Followed almost immediately by the self-shrunken Etag. The latter subsequently wrapped himself around her in the semblance of the stagnatanium chain!

* * * * *

Ray decided to skip the rest of the psychometric flashback, and loosened his grip on the tube-like molecular disruptor. Primarily, because of the approaching police sirens that seemed to be converging on the building!

"Looks like one of my neighbors must have called the cops, Ed. Let's head on over to the Marionette Theater, in Central Park. You can look for some roadkill. And, I'll dine on my now-lukewarm Wishbone Special. What do you say?"

If a living third party had been present, they would have sworn the fish crow replied "Uh-huh."

Within ten seconds, Ray had shrunk himself back down to one inch tall. At which size, he climbed aboard the bird's neck, and crouched forward like a jockey at the start of a horse race.

Meanwhile, Etag Thron had finally found a subway tunnel with enough of a lull in activity that he could resume humanoid form. When this had been accomplished, he activated his own crosstime warp and flowed through it to...

WISHBONE'S RESTAURANT
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
(EARTH-DXM)

Etag's office had been properly soundproofed. Yet, Ledo Srmm could not resist opening the office door just a crack, to see if anyone had heard the activation of the warp's egress. Much to her relief, there were no sounds of either running or panic-stricken shouting coming in that direction. So, the redheaded assistant manager turned and asked how everything had gone.

"Not too well. Vorexia is dead. The target still lives. And, I lost my molecular disruptor."

"What???!"

"Relax, my love! I have every intention of getting it back, before I must update His Lordship."

"Wishful thinking, Etag. He sensed your return and wants a progress report. Now!"

For the first time that afternoon, the rather cocky Morpher gulped with nervousness. He then took a deep breath and marched over to the office safe. It was of the type that stood on four stout metal legs, leaving about three inches of it off the ground.

Just low enough for Etag to flow beneath it, through a certain ventilation duct, and down into a cubicle that could have passed for a private restroom! That is; if not for the presence of another Philco Predicta replica.

He remotely activated it, and remarked (as calmy as possible): "You wished to speak with me, Milord?"

tbc

* * * * *

The Swedish Cottage Marionette Theater had orginally been built as an exhibit for the Swedish Pavilion, at the American Centennial Exposition of Philadelphia, in 1876. By 1939, it had been moved to its present location, where it became the headquarters for a touring puppet show company. And, by 1973, it had been remodeled so that puppet shows could be held inside it, year-round.

Ray Venn was now in the attic of that theater. Having enlarged himself to a foot tall, he was now the same size as the string-operated puppets he hid among. In fact, the only way a normal human would have been able to distinguish him from them was if he were to move under his own power!

Here, he ate his Wishbone special in peace. Then, he made his wish. Although, not until after carefully wording it in his mind. He had worked too many cases resulting from Stanley Wishbone's customers misspeaking their wishes.

"I wish to visit the Wishbone restaurant most recently visited by Doc Kraepelin."

The next thing Ray knew, he was on a floor covered with black-and-white checkered linoleum, and surrounded by a huge, seamless white wall. He immediately recognized the latter as a tablecloth. So, he enlarged another six inches, and walked over to the portion of tablecloth behind him.

As luck would have it, he found himself facing a stucco-painted wall. He resumed full height, and hastily occupied the vacant chair facing away from that wall. This, in turn, gave him an excellent view of the other tables in the establishment.

It was a posh place, featuring a tuxedo-clad pianist playing easy-listening instrumentals. And, a "Wall of Discovery," containing photographic headshots of Gary Cooper, Lana Turner, and Edward Furlong (among others), directly opposite his table.

Almost instantly, a young redheaded waitress came over to fill his water glass and present him with a menu. But, he handed the menu back to her, stating that he would merely have the Wishbone Special.

While waiting for it, he saw a police car pull up front. The female officer who exited from the front passenger seat came in, and went up to the take-out window. Ray's eyebrows arched when he heard the number of Wishbone Specials that she was there to pick up.

"Thirteen?" he echoed, sotto voce: "What's that all about? Some kind of donut rehab?"

The police car was long gone by the time Ray got his second Special of the day. He did not let that bother him, however. He merely consumed it before making his next wish.

"I wish to know where that policewoman was taking all those Specials."

The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by what appeared to be an all-girl motorcycle gang. Most of whom were pointing Intratec machine pistols at him!

tbc

* * * * *

Even for men such as themselves, the trip west of the International Date Line (putting them one day ahead, give or take ten hours) took some readjustment. That period of readjustment was not improved by the monsoon rain currently inundating everyone and everything around them. Without the protective forcefields generated by their teleportons, the black raincoats they wore over their regular suits would have been highly insufficient at keeping the latter dry.

"I never thought we'd _really_ have to use these things as umbrellas," Agent 679 muttered to his partner, as they entered the lobby of Black Mountain Tower.

Agent 678 nodded: "And, with all the commensurate thunder and lightning, I kept half-expecting Bela Lugosi to pop out of thin air and bid us 'velcome.' "

"I prefer the Gary Oldman version, myself."

"You would. What makes you think that teenagers, twenty years from now, won't be regarding _that_ as a corny cult classic?"

"Call it...a hunch."

"No fair! Now, you're quoting from YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN."

"Whatever."

This half-serious banter, meant to give the impression that they were very good friends, did not go unnoticed. A security guard (who looked more like a theatrical usher) came over and greeted them.

"G'day, gentlemen. Could I be of any assistance?"

"As a matter of fact, yes!" exclaimed the older agent: "Where might we find the head office for CTG Enterprises?"

"That would be on the first floor, sir."

Agent 679 angled his head in confusion: "Aren't we on the first floor, right now?"

"Ah! You gentlemen must be from America. What you call the 'first floor' in your country is called the 'ground floor,' here. Making what you call the 'second floor' the 'first floor _above_ the ground floor,' here."

Both visitors nodded in agreement with this train of logic, and thanked the guard for his help. Then, just as they were about to proceed toward the nearest elevator (a.k.a. "lift"), Agent 679 turned and asked one final question.

"Is it true that there have been a lot of mysterious disappearances, near this mountain?"

"Oh, no, sir! You're thinking of Mount Kalkajaka, up in Queensland. The locals call it 'Black Mountain' for all the sooty-black boulders on its slopes. Centerpiece of a national park, it is. With a beautiful panoramic view of Cooktown from the top!"

"Thank you. Maybe, on our next trip down here, my colleague and I can pay it a visit."

As they continued on their way, Agent 678 whispered an inquiry as to what that had been all about.

"I thought the Sitmobtia might have chosen this site as an entry point, for their contraband, because of ley-line convergence. Reducing the danger of too many power spikes from artificial warp-activation."

Agent 678 nodded; albeit, advancing this hypothesis one step further.

"If the other Black Mountain is such an interdimensional crossroads, they might be relaying energy from there, to here, in order to charge their wrist-mounted activators."

Two minutes later, the elevator pinged to a stop, and the agents disembarked. Directly across from them was a glass-encased directory made of black-painted iron, stuck to which were magnetized white letters. Literally spelling out all the names of the businesses leasing office space on that floor.

They found the room number for CTG Enterprises and headed for it. Upon reaching that door, they saw it faced a window that was being pelted so fiercely, by the rain, they literally could not see through it. All too visible, however, was the sign on the door stating that the office had been closed unexpectedly early, due to a death in the family.

Consequently, their backs were turned toward the rain-lashed window. And, the Morpher who slowly began separating himself from it!

tbc

SOMEWHERE NEAR THE SIZE ISLANDS

* * * * *

J-Rog thought it over. Finally, he said:

"That's a very tempting offer, Sizae-oni. But, I was wondering. How did Ray Venn wind up as a private eye on Earth? I mean; with his talents, he could be a high-ranking police officer on this world!"

Sizae-oni frowned, with a touch of sadness.

"He was, at first. After graduating from Nusi Academy, he followed in his father's footsteps by joining the Size Island Constabulary. Although, sometimes, he moonlighted as a professional bodyguard at public appearances by Sizeloan celebrities (like the stars of DEMON BUSTERS). Then, one day, he was visited at his office by Paxinda Toleranza. An...ex-classmate of his from the academy."

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

"When I'm not running the dojo, I lead a small chapter of S.E.T.H., on the side."

"You?!" exclaimed Ray: "The former campus queen of non-involvement?"

"Well, let's just say that our...time together...really opened my eyes. Which brings me to the reason for my visit. S.E.T.H., as a whole, does what it can from within the system. But, picket signs and demonstrations can only go so far. My chapter has decided to become a litte more...pro-active."

"What do you mean?"

"We recently learned that the Sitmobtia is bringing a shipment of shrunken humans into the Trion Sector of the Gamma Continent. That's a human-free zone! No pet humans allowed. So, my people and I are going to liberate that shipment, and bring the humans here."

Ray looked at her in mild astonishment.

"That's a pretty bold move, Xinda. The Sitmobtia are dangerous people."

"I know. That's why I'd feel more comfortable if you were there with us. You were the top of our class at size-changing. And, you also have the self-defense training you learned from your father!"

During their early days at Nusi Academy, Ray had told Xinda all about his parents. Including his father's Vietnam-era youth as an Air Force SP at Naha, Okinawa. The birthplace of goju-ryu karate!

Xinda had learned enough of that martial art, from Ray, that she was able to open her own little dojo, following graduation. With some of her students being fellow members of S.E.T.H.

"As well-trained as they are, they're not a seasoned veteran policeman like you."

Ray half-smiled and agreed.

Two nights later, a delivery van marked "Cross Time Gifts" came to a halt in the middle of an empty field, and turned off its lights. Five minutes after that, a saucer-shaped craft landed roughly fifty feet from that van. With two women, wearing silver-foil flightsuits, disembarking from the saucer's hatch. The apparent leader of the duo had whitish-blonde hair. Her much younger partner had auburn hair.

It was the former who conversed with the black-haired man who emerged from the driver's side of the van. After which, she nodded to the auburn-haired youngster, who immediately began relaying hamster cages to the driver's partner.

It was when the cages were almost fully loaded into the van that the S.E.T.H. chapter re-enlarged themselves...and struck.

They were dressed like ninjas! And, their sudden appearance so startled the smugglers that three of them were unable to avoid being karate-chopped and kicked into submission. But, the auburn-haired youngster fought back, engaging one of the attackers in a tug-of-war for the last cage.

"Let...go...you...human-loving..."

"Deborah???" gasped the attacker.

"Xinda???" gasped her opponent.

This mutual distraction allowed one of the other S.E.T.H. ninjas to stun Deborah from behind.

"Let's go-go-go!"

Xinda and her "rescuer" ran towards the van, which one of the other liberators had already started up. But, Xinda never made it. The black-haired driver managed to shake off the pain of his injuries, and withdraw a tubular object from within his windbreaker.

Deborah saw this and shouted: "Aetor! No!"

She was too late, however. A red beam enveloped Xinda. Disintegrating both her...and the cage she was carrying.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed the ninja who had been running in front of her. The black-haired driver promptly aimed the tube at him. But, he missed as that ninja shrank from sight.

When the latter re-enlarged, he was armed with a Smith and Wesson Model 39 in nine millimeter. And, the first bullet fired from it lodged itself, quite literally, between Xinda's killer's eyes!

The whole field was subsequently spot-lit by police heli-saucers, who had detected the energy spike from the molecular disruptor's two discharges. They landed, and arrested everyone.

It would turn out that the dead man was one Aetor Bigla; better known among the "mini-phage" set as Voracio.

"Mini-phage?" echoed J-Rog.

"Sizeloans who--literally--get off on swallowing shrunken humans alive. Of course, they can only do so in those areas of the Commonwealth where the human pet trade is legal!"

The judge at Ray's trial summed it up best when a compromise was reached between Ray's lawyer and the prosecution.

"Your extra-legal vigilantism is mitigated only by the fact that you shot to kill, in self-defense, during a crime in progress. Namely; the attempted importation of contraband into the Trion Sector. Therefore; it is the verdict of this court that (with the exception of the Size Islands) you are to be banished from Sizeloa for life!"

The ensuing murmurs, both pro and con, that ran through the spectators required silencing by repeated rappings of the judge's gavel.

"Sentence will commence exactly twenty-four hours from now! You have that long to get your affairs in order. If you are still anywhere on any of the Four Continents, after that? You will be subject to arrest...and summary execution. Court is adjourned."

RAP!

Ray's exit from the courtroom was delayed by a young woman who superficially resembled the African-American actress named Vanity.

"Consider yourself lucky, Venn. Because, if we ever meet again, I will cut off your head; shrink it to the size of a grape; and SWALLOW IT WHOLE!"

"I believe you, Veronica. That is; I believe you'll try."

Xinda was symbolically buried on Humanitaria. And, Ray was the next-to-last person to leave her graveside. The very last person to do so was...Deborah Law.

"If it's any consolation, I've left the Sitmobtia, Ray. I've never seen anyone...disrupted...before. Especially, not someone willing to die for...for..."

"...for mere humans?" he completed the sentence for her. And, guiltily, she nodded.

"I hope you maintain that resolve, Deborah. Sizeloans and humans aren't just examples of convergent evolution. The very fact mixed couples, like my parents, can even _have_ children is proof of that! Xinda realized it. And, she ultimately martyred herself to wise up others. Don't let her sacrifice be in vain."

His own tears, as he walked away, prevented him from seeing the tears that flowed through Deborah's fingers as she buried her face in her hands.

tbc

* * * * *

The two agents had no problem using their teleportons in going from the hallway to the outer office of CTG Enterprises. As expected, they found an empty waiting room dominated by a receptionist's desk, complete with personal computer and electric typewriter. Beyond this desk was a door with a frosted glass window that bore only one word, in black letters:

"PRIVATE"

Agent 678 instructed his partner to interphase with the computer, while he, himself, examined the desk in the inner office.

"What should I be looking for, exactly?"

"Anything to do with the Wishbone Restaurant in Washington, D.C."

"Affirmative."

Agent 678 then used his teleporton, once more. He was not gone long, however. In less than five seconds, he had quickly (but quietly) opened the inner office door. Whereupon, he urgently gestured for Agent 679 to join him.

"What's the matter?" the latter whispered. Agent 678 pointed downward toward the floor. The younger man almost gave away their presence with his barely-stifled gasp. For there, taking up almost the entire length and width of the floor, was a thriving, functioning factory complex in miniature!

"It's like a micro-robotic diorama," said Agent 679.

Agent 678 shook his head: "I took a biometric scan, almost immediately. There are shrunken organics in those buildings, alright. Approximately .1% streetfinder size."

"At that size, they'd have the gross output of half the Asian Industrial Bloc!"

"Agreed. Did you finish interphasing with the pc?"

"Almost. You _did_ take me by surprise with your summons."

Agent 678 apologetically half-smiled, and angled his head to their left, signaling a return to the outer office. There, Agent 679 completed his original task.

"Your hunch was right. They're manufacturing shrink rays and weaponized Spell-breaker gas by the proverbial truckload! It's all teleported, via crosstime warp, to the Las Vegas of Earth-DXM. Specifically; another pseudo-Wishbone's Restaurant. It gets relayed from there, to a place called Area 51, for magical re-enlargement by military personnel who have just dined on Wishbone Specials!"

"Let me guess," replied Agent 678: "The re-enlarged weapons are then 'wished' to Washington, by diners at the D.C. facility?"

Agent 679 nodded: "It's a very efficient operation, I have to admit."

"Yes. Too much so, to be the Sitmobtia's handiwork, alone!"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I think we should pay a little visit to the Morphian government. To see what their matriarchal police force might know about interdimensional gun-running."

As if on cue, a massive crosstime warp suddenly opened up behind the two agents! Distracting them just long enough for the Morpher, who had been spying on them, to come out from beneath the receptionist's desk and zap them, bio-electrically!

The collective jolt was enough to send them flying out of their shoes and into the warp. Albeit, completely unconscious. When they revived, they found themselves in a strange metal enclosure. It had four walls, but no roof. And, looking down upon them, through that gap, was a very pretty giantess with light brown hair and a matching complexion.

The giantess smiled, as she donned a white apron.

"Hello! I'm Oralia Crammett-Downs. And, welcome to my home economics class!"

tbc

THE PENTAGON,
WASHINGTON, D.C.
EARTH-DXM (08/12/09)

* * * * *

MarySue Smith entered Interrogation Room #2, carrying Little Barney in the crook of her right arm. When she had seated herself, as comfortably as she could, on the gray folding chair, she put him down on the white formica tabletop.

"So! You used to be a giantess, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am. But, I wasn't born that way!"

"I know. You were magically turned into one. And, then, you got sent to a parallel-Earth. Is that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What were the inhabitants like?"

"Just like us, ma'am. They even had the same kind of weights-and-measurements. But, what they call 'six feet tall,' we'd have to multiply by a hundred!"

"So, there were no humans _our_ size, there?"

"Only as prisoners, slaves, or fugitive rebels."

"Rebels? You mean, there's some kind of revolution going on there?"

"More like a civil war. Between the EGG's (Evil Giantess-Goddesses) who invaded it sometime before. And, their more human-loving counterparts, the Good Gals, who want to help liberate it."

"Which side were you on?"

"The Good Gals! I ate sizevamps for them."

"Sizevamps?"

"Slang term for a kind of vampire that...reduces the size of its victims while feeding on them."

"I see," replied MarySue, with another half-smile: "And, did you occasionally...play with your food?"

"Play, ma'am?"

"Yes! Like this, for instance?"

She picked Barney up, grasping the collar of his shirt with her left thumb and index finger. Whereupon, she began licking him like a popsicle!

The Phantom Voyeur, who had been keeping them under surveillance (and who thought he had seen it all), could not stand watching this particular form of mind-game.

"Voyeurman to HQ!" he urgently whispered: "Voyeurman to HQ! Do you read me? Over."

"We read you, Voyeurman. And, we see what's going on."

"Then, I respectfully request permission to extract the prisoner from this cruel and inhuman torture."

There was a slight pause, during which the P.V. could swear he heard some hushed giggling amid the background static. Then, the reply came.

"Permission granted. Extract him at the first opportunity, and bring him straight here. Over!"

"Roger that, HQ. Voyeurman, over and out."

Five minutes later, MarySue lowered Barney back onto the table.

"Ewwwwww! You're all sticky with my saliva. I'd better dry you off with my handkerchief. I don't want Dr. Messimer angry with me!"

The Phantom Voyeur grinned. He waited until Barney was completely enshrouded by MarySue's handkerchief. Then, he pressed some buttons on the instrument strapped to his left forearm. Whereupon, he vanished!

A moment later, MarySue felt the handkerchief become slack. Frowning in puzzlement, she lifted it up...and found her little captive gone!

"What the...?"

Those very words were echoed by Barney when he found himself standing in some high-tech control room. Restored to normal size, as well! He then looked to his to his left and saw an apparent married couple. They smiled, walked forward, and shook his hand.

"Hi," said the man (who looked to be in his mid-thirties): "I'm Scott Chelgren. This is my wife, Sarah. Welcome to the headquarters of the Growth Triumphant Society."

tbc

* * * * *

Ray instantly prepared to shrink down to one-inch tall. It would be risky. But, if he could run behind the nearest of these women, he could re-enlarge and point his Model 39 at the right side of her head! He was prevented from doing this, however, by three little words.

Or, more accurately, one word repeated thrice.

"Cut! Cut!! CUT!!!"

Ray looked behind him, and stared in open-mouthed disbelief at the sight of an entire production crew. With a director of the Old School (including a black beret) centrally located in the front row, in a wooden folding chair.

"What the blazes is the stunt double doing in this scene?"

"I'll take care of this, Rontor. He's an old friend of mine from Nusi Academy. I sort of gave him an open invitation to come visit, if he was ever in the neighborhood."

"Well, you should have specified your _residential_ neighborhood! This is supposed to be a closed set."

"You're right, and I apologize."

Ray half-smiled at the irony of the woman who was doing the apologizing. Dana Schorr-Geraghty was the controversial sizehu actress who had starred in the first three seasons of DEMON BUSTERS as "Ms. Push" (the telekinetic first-born sister)!

The gossip columnists on Sizeloa had always been talking about how temperamental she was, off-camera. One critic had even alleged that she put the "psycho" in "psychokinetic." But, she and Ray had always been the best of friends. For, as half-human sizechangers, they had a common bond!

Now, as the two of them exited the building, Ray saw that it was a closed-down department store called "Cloverfield's." They walked a bit further, and then entered a spotlessly-white camper.

"Welcome to my home away from home. Long time/no see, Ray."

"Likewise. But, to paraphrase Herr Director, out there; what the blazes is going on?"

Dana giggled: "We're doing some on-location shooting for a two-hour pilot film called CHERUB. It's a proposed spin-off of DEMON BUSTERS, which I am executive producing. And, it's about a baby-faced sizevamp who tries to mend his evil ways by helping the helpless. This ex-department store is where the Big Showdown occurs, as he helps the Demon Busters vanquish...the Sizevamp Queen of San Francisco! All before emigrating to L.A."

Ray chuckled: "Sounds like a Nielsen magnet, alright. Although, I doubt you'll get the OK to do a full-fledged spin-off."

Dana smiled: "A certain ex-detective constable I know had the same doubts about DEMON BUSTERS getting renewed, for Season 5, after the killing-off of Ms. Push. Remember?"

"Touche'!"

"Seriously, though, Ray. What are you doing here?"

Ray looked at her before answering. She, too, had changed in the five years since his banishment. Her brunette hair was very closely cropped, now. And, yet, somehow, it accentuated her attractiveness. Well, that; plus the very form-fitting white turtleneck sweater she had on!

She seemed to be reading his mind, as she smilingly reminded him that her ears were a bit higher up. So, he apologetically cleared his throat and sat down, as he told her about his latest case.

When he got to the part about the thirteen Wishbone Specials, she giggled once more.

"Nothing conspiratorial about that. It was one of our extras making a late lunch-run, with one of the genuine cops who provide crowd control when we film outdoors."

"Oh! Well, doesn't that make me feel foolish."

"No serious harm done. You look a little beat, though. Why don't you catch forty winks, in here? Then, when you're rested and refreshed, we can talk some more."

"I'd like that, Dana. Thanks."

It turned out that she had a pull-down "Murphy bed." He took off his shoes before lying down on it. But, once he had, he was asleep--and mildly snoring--before Dana was halfway back to the camper's door.

tbc

* * * * *

Dana had just finished her Wishbone Special. She did some thinking for a minute or two. Then, she looked at her camper (where Ray was still asleep), and whispered:

"I wish for him to discover why the Sitmobita is going to such lengths to kill someone for merely knowing the truth about the Kecksburg UFO."

Then, she snapped the bone in half.

* * * * *

"Ray? Raymond Venn! Time to wake up."

Ray opened his eyes, and immediately noticed two things. There was a very tiny woman hovering in front of his face, like Disney's Tinkerbell. And, just behind her, on the Murphy-bed? He saw his own body, still asleep!

"Am I dreaming?" he asked (mostly to himself).

"Not quite. My name is Tina. I'm a time-traveling mini-goddess. And, I've induced an astral-projective state in you, as part of a wish I'm granting to your friend, Dana."

"What kind of wish?"

"You'll see."

The next thing he knew, the two of them were traveling through what might have been an ordinary crosstime warp. Except for the fact that Ray could partially see through his own arms!

When they finally stopped, it was in a torch-lit cavern.

"Where are we?"

"In the caverns beneath Brown Mountain, in Burke County, North Carolina, on Earth-07052009-A. It's one of several parallel-Earths where the American Civil War was won by the Confederacy, under the leadership of a GTS-goddess named Gabrielle. And, the date is April 30, 1897."

A quintet of gray-clad soldiers entered the cave and arranged a wooden table and, directly opposite each other, two armless wooden chairs. A candelabra was set in the middle of the table and lit from one of the torches via willow switch. Then, five more men came in. Two officers; two enlisted men; and one black hooded civilian being dragged in between the latter.

The civilian was forcibly seated before the opaque hood was removed. The older of the two officers (a general who appeared to be in his mid-to late fifties) sat down in the other chair.

"Professor Nikola Tesla? My name is Lewis Cross. General; Confederate States Army Reserve. This is my aide, Capt. Echota Riordan. Formerly, with the Eighth Texas Cavalry."

"I wish I could say I am pleased to meet you, General. But, that would be a lie. Considering the circumstances behind my 'arrival,' here (wherever that might be)!"

The general chuckled: "Perfectly understandable reaction. There is a reason for it, however. Men?"

Half a dozen soliders came in, carrying a coffin from which the lid had been removed. Three-fourths of the coffin's interior had been filled with crushed ice. The remainder had been kept clear, so on-lookers could clearly see what the ice had been preserving.

Tesla initially thought it was a medium-sized ape that had been shorn of all its hair after apparently starving to death. That is; until he saw that its folded-together hands had six fingers apiece!

"What on Earth...?"

"Correction, Professor. This being is not---and probably never was--of this Earth. His body was recovered from where his airship crashed, near Aurora, Texas. A little under two weeks ago."

"His airship?" echoed the startled inventor.

"A heaver-than-air craft, to be precise. With an outer shell composed of a metal so hard that not even a steam-powered drill with a diamond bit could penetrate it!"

"Incredible!"

"But, true. And, you have been brought here to examine the technological items salvaged from within that vehicle. Examine, analyze, and hopefully duplicate (to be even more precise)."

"I am almost flattered beyond words that you think so highly of my genius, General Cross. But, why all this melodramatic secrecy? You know I would have said 'yes,' if approached and asked, conventionally. Not even Edison, himself, would have refused such an opportunity!"

"True. I assure you, however, that the 'melodramatic secrecy' is all too necessary. Tell me, Professor. Do you know what it's like to be a twin?"

Tesla shook his head.

"All through the War 'tween the States, my biggest fear was that my brother and I would wind up in the same battle, and unwittingly kill each other. We got lucky, though. We both came back to Tonkawa Springs! I became commanding officer of nearby Fort Pecos. And, Clark was told 'yes,' when he popped the question to his childhood sweetheart, Lauren Findlay. There was only one problem. They had an old-fashioned Christian service, instead of getting married in _her_ name. And for that? Clark...and Lauren...were swallowed alive...on THEIR WEDDING NIGHT!!!"

Everyone waited in polite silence for General Cross to regain his composure.

"I beg your pardon, Professor. It's just that I've waited thirty years for an opportunity to avenge my brother's death. And, the Good Lord has finally provided it! That's why I had my men smuggle all these things here, while Gabrielle is preoccupied with her war against Katie Carroll and the Canadians. I may not live to see the completion of Operation: Nacre. But, with your help, and the Good Lord's blessing, it will come to pass, never-the-less."

"What will come to pass, General? What is Operation: Nacre?"

"Why, the liberation of America from _her_, o'course! As to the significance of the code-name? Necessity is the mother of invention. Nacre is better known as mother-of-pearl. And, today would have been Clark and Lauren's...pearl anniversary."

"I understand, General Cross. And, I am completely at your service."

Ray turned his astral head to look at the mini-goddess.

"So, Tesla invented a death-ray on this world, too. Big deal! What's that got to do with the Sitmobtia trying to kill J-Rog, so obsessively?"

"I'm trying to show you that one's lust for revenge can be just as blinding as love. And, twice as self-destructive."

Ray's eyebrows arched: "Wait a minute! Are you saying that the occupants of the Kecksburg Saucer were related to some high mucky-muck in the Sitmobtia? And, that he's plotting some kind of major retribution?"

Tina smiled, and placed her right index finger on her tiny nose. Yet, when Ray subsequently asked her for a specific name, all she did was return him to his corporeal body.

And, when he woke up, he could see by his Grolex watch that he had been asleep for twelve hours!

tbc

* * * * *

Her maiden name had been Oralia Zeropesor. And, she had originally worked as a lunch lady for a middle school cafeteria. Then, she married the most wonderful man in the world! In her eyes, anyway.

She had first met him at a sold-out charity concert given by the school band. She was in charge of the intermission refreshments. While he was looking for possible scholarship candidates to the music department of the private liberal arts school where he worked.

He had introduced himself as Laikstu Crammet-Downs. He proposed to her after their tenth date. And, she said "yes," without the slightest hesitation!

Unfortunately, their wonderful marriage only lasted three years. While returning from another school concert, in a far-distant township, he was run off the road by a drunk driver. His car struck a tree; killing him on impact.

After a suitable mourning period, Oralia went to work for that same college (an all-girls' school) as a home-ec teacher. To keep her classes from going over budget, she took to growing her own vegetables. The only problem was, her garden was right next door to the ornamental flower garden planted by the college's original alumni association. And, the landscapists who maintained it (using the money paid them by the current alumni association) snobbishly refused to weed her pitiful little plot!

So, this was the reason she was on her hands and knees--to trim away the crab grass bordering her garden--when she found the strange little men. She had been hearing rumors about them for the past six years! Mostly, from Mrs. Ongueville. Yet, she had always scoffed at them...until now.

She picked them up, straight away, and made a beeline for her classroom's kitchen.

She put them in an aluminum tray that she normally used for big roasts. At their size, however (why, they couldn't be more than one inch tall, apiece!), it would probably seem more like a big square football field.

It was at this point that the two little men woke up, and she introduced herself.

* * * * *

Agent 679 looked up at the giantess, who was beginning to drool a little.

"Are we on Earth-09082009? The Mega-world?" he asked, in their emergency ultra-sonic code.

"Negative," replied Agent 678, in the same fashion: "Based on the scholastic environment, I postulate that we're on Neo-geo 02202010. Headquarters hasn't even arranged a full-time surveillance station here, yet!"

"Well, I have no trouble postulating that she's got a hungry gleam in her eye. And, I don't mean erotically!"

"Agreed," replied the senior agent: "Unfortunately, I don't think we can resort to our usual means of escape-and-evasion. My teleporton is missing. And, from the looks of it? So is yours!"

tbc

* * * * *

Ray checked his Grolex. It showed the time as 8:00 AM. Of course, that was Eastern Daylight Time, which explained why it was still so dark out, outside the camper. The three-hour time difference.

Suddenly, the back door the camper opened, and in strode Dana.

"Ah! You're finally awake. Good timing."

"Are you just getting in, now?" he exclaimed in reply: "Girl! You keep weirder hours than a sizevamp."

"That's Hollywood, for you!" she laughed: "Sometimes, we work from six at night to six in the morning. Care to watch some 'Kelly and Kathie Lee,' while I get some breakfast from the honeywagon?"

"Why not?"

She opened up her laptop, activated it, and then googled "GoodMorningLive.com"

"You know," she remarked: "I still can't believe there are some parallel-Earths where it's Kathie Lee who left, and Regis who stayed!"

Ray shrugged: "The vagaries of Fate, and all that jazz. Wait until you hear about the dream I had, last night."

Just as Dana was about to hand him the laptop, however, he suddenly tensed.

"Dana; do you have any genuine sizevamps working on this pilot?"

"Just the lead guest-stars. Why?"

His answer was loud and monosyllabic: "Duck!!"

He tackled her to the floor, just as the camper started to look like Swiss cheese from a hail of submachine gunfire!

Knowing it was only a matter of seconds until the fusillade began working its way down, Ray shrunk both himself and Dana down to one inch tall. Then, he pressed the warp-activation buttons on his Grolex. And, when the crosstime warp opened up, relative to their size, he jumped through it. Taking Dana with him in a fireman's carry!

MEANWHILE, BACK ON NEO-GEO 02202010...

...Oralia began frowning in puzzlement. Her little captives kept looking at each other and, yet, said nothing.

"Hmmmmm! Is it possible you two don't speak English? If so, then, it would be a waste of time telling you to strip naked. I'll have to do it for both of you! So, I can see which of you becomes a snack. And, which of you I'm going to keep as my permanent love-slave!"

Agent 678 looked from her to the automatic sprinkler system passing by overhead. Then, he looked at Agent 679, who nodded. They waited until Oralia's hands were almost toward them. And, then, they fired their disruptor rings upward!

KA-ZAP!

BOOOOM!

BAH-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING!

Oralia screamed, not knowing whether to cover up her hair or her ears. Thereby allowing enough time for her captives to break left and right, as they leapt out of the frying pan and on to the stove top. From there, they leapt out into space. Grabbing on to Oralia's trouser creases, at the last moment, in order to break their falls!

Upon jumping down to the floor, they headed for the study desks, dodging and weaving through them, at floor level, as if threading their way through a maze. Oralia spotted this, and screamed in frustrated rage. She ran towards the desks, and began to bodily overturn them, in the hopes of exposing and/or cornering the little man-bugs.

The two agents, however, had already left that part of the classroom.

They were now proceeding to climb a number of drawer handles. So, that they could get within jumping distance of a cabinet top flanking a certain window. Oralia was unaware of this, however, until she heard the sound of their disruptor rings at work. Too late, she turned!

Only to see them crash bodily through the section of glass they had carved out a wide circle within.

By the time she reached that counter top, her little captives were gone. Heading straight back, at amazing speed, to the ornamental flower garden where she had first found them.

The two agents took shelter under a thorny-looking rose bush.

"A narrow escape. Wouldn't you say?" Agent 678 remarked. His young partner agreed. He then asked if they should not start "pinging" for their teleportons. Agent 678 nodded.

However, just as they were about to activate the emergency transponders built-in to the missing devices, they heard the familiar sound of a crosstime warp opening up! They hurriedly followed the sound to its apparent source. Yet, by the time they arrived, the warp was closed.

All they found, when they skidded to a stop, were two more people. A woman wearing a white turtleneck sweater. And, a man (roughly the same age as the woman) wearing a flat gray cap and black leather jacket.

"Well-well-well!" quipped Agent 678: "Isn't this a small world?"

THE END...of Volume 1.

To Be Concluded...in Volume 2.