* * * * *
I had to admit, if only to myself, I was a little mystified by what J-Rog had told me. You see, normally, the Sitmobtia went in for speed and subtlety when it came to their slave raids. Hence, their use of small, two-person dimension hoppers, which are normally (if facetiously) shaped like saucers with the accompanying cups upside-down on top of them.
And, being sizechangers, the pilot and co-pilot of a DH don't usually require a giant-sized vessel. They merely shrink all their captives down to an inch, or less, in height!
Anyway, the first thing I did was to log on to "Theparanoidsareright.com" and search for "Perry Meson." When I found several of his most recent entries, on the subject of UFO's, I decided to catch his attention with something that I was sure would prove enticing.
"Hey, Perry! Wanna know the truth behind the Kecksburg Crash? E-mail me @ iPry.com."
Twenty-four hours later, I got a response via instant message.
"RU serious?"
"More than Frank & Ernest, put 2-gether," I typed back: "But, I can't risk telling U on-line. Where can we meet?"
"How about the bistro atop the iFul?" he/she replied.
"Noon GMT?" I suggested.
"Magnifique!" Perry Meson affirmed.
After mutually signing off, I checked my watch. It read 6:46 P.M./EDT. So, if England was five hours ahead of that, and if France was one hour ahead of Greenwich Mean Time, then it would be quarter of one in the morning, in Paris, right this instant. Which, in turn, meant that if I was to be at the restaurant atop the Eiffel Tower by one o'clock tomorrow afternoon, French time, I'd have to warp out of New York no later than five minutes before seven, tomorrow morning, our time!
So, Ed and I naturally went to bed, early. When my alarm clock started beeping at 6:15 A.M., I hurried as much as I could in freshening up and getting dressed.
"Ready to go, Ed?" I asked him, thirty minutes later.
"Uh-uh! Uh-uh! Uh-uh!" he cawed.
"Well, too dang bad," I replied: "We've got a case."
Whereupon, I opened the window sill of my apartment; brought Ed over to it; and, then, shrank down to one inch in height. Small enough to ride on the back of his neck! And, when we had reached a sufficiently high altitude, I pressed a secret stud on my "Grolex" watch. Activating the crosstime warp that would allow us to make the quickest non-stop flight to Paris since the invention of the SST Concorde!!
We emerged in much brighter daylight, which disoriented both me and Ed for about a microsecond. Then, we adjusted. Ed touching down on a stairway railing about three flights below the observation deck. You see, most tourists visiting the Eiffel Tower usually use the elevator. So, I was able to jump off Ed's neck, and re-enlarge, on a perfectly vacant landing.
The head waiter came up to me, at the entrance to the restaurant, and asked if he could help me. Now, if I had been a normal tourist, he would have taken one look at my usual ensemble (black leather jacket; matching slacks and shoes; and gray Gatsby cap) and promptly ignored me. But, I have the vampiric power of telepathic hypno-suggestion. So, I made him think he was looking at a rich American, in a designer business suit, while telling him my name and confirming my reservation for two.
"Ah, oui! Right this way, M'sieur Venn."
I sat down at a relatively private table in the upper right corner of the restaurant, and told the head waiter I was expecting my guest at the top of the hour.
"Tres bien, m'sieur! I will (as they say on television americain) keep my eyes peeled."
The man was as good as his word. Promptly at 1:00 P.M./UTC+1, the head waiter brought "Perry Meson" to my table. And, I could not help staring.
Because, the latter was a beautiful blue-eyed blonde whose hair was longer than her sleeveless black dress (with matching high heels). And, a pair of eye glasses that only served to accentuate her looks, rather than detract from them!
"You're 'Perry Meson?' " I exclaimed, unintentionally belaboring the obvious.
She laughed: "Nee Paula Drake! Professor of quantum physics. And, you are...?"
"Raymond Venn," I replied, shaking her proffered hand: "Alias iPry."
We both sat down, before getting to the main topic of discussion.
"So!" she began: "How long have you been a UFO investigator?"
"Since before I even opened my own detective agency," I replied: "And, how long did you have to wait before reporting Niall Freeman's disappearance to Jolly Roger?"
Sammy the Singing Bass couldn't have opened his mouth any wider.
"How on Earth...?"
Before she could go on with that inevitable first question, she was interrupted by the alarmed cawing of Edgar Allen Crow. Which was subsequently followed by a series of vibrations that started out as very small. But, which gradually increased to the level of a minor L.A. earth tremor.
Several of the other people started screaming at this point. I merely jumped to my feet. Instinctively dropping my sartorial illusion, and quick-drawing my nine millimeter Smith & Wesson Model 39, at the same time! For all the good the latter did me. Because, the next thing I knew, there was a bright flash of white light. And, when my vision finally cleared? I heard a jovial female voice (which was decidedly _not_ Paula's) exclaiming:
"Welcome to the Titan Station Duty-free Gift Shop! How might I help you?"
tbc???
Giantess World
