-SALOON AT THE EDGE OF EVERYWHERE-

Chapter Thirty

Meanwhile, over at City Hall, the rest of ‘Rufus’s Avengers’ were being filmed, photographed and recorded by virtually every type of technology known to anyone, while shaking hands with the President of the United States, famous film and TV stars, some musical recording giants, and dignitaries and VIPs from at least 40 separate species. The ‘Avengers’ were being asked every conceivable kind of question by the media, from “Who does your hair, Candybar?” to “Hey Ox, what do you guys do for fun in your free time?” But far and away the most often asked question was “Where’s Rufus?”

The cab ride was mildly interesting. Their driver was a purple being with a head that looked a little like a turnip, and Rufus had a hard time understanding him when he spoke because of his heavy accent. He had an even harder time not laughing when it occurred to him that a taxi-driving alien with modest English skills was such an awesome cliché, but then his Berkeley-liberal upbringing kicked in, and he felt almost like a racist for having that thought. This is the power of Berkeley-liberal guilt

The cab pulled up in front of the house where Rufus was raised. His parents had tried to have children for years before finally adopting Rufus’s older brother, and three years later adopting Rufus himself. That was when they had bought the rambling wooden house nestled in the redwoods and friendly neighbors, to provide more room for their growing family. A couple of years later they had a child the more traditional way, and a few years after that, Rufus’s third brother was born in the same fashion. As Rufus’s mother laughingly explained it, ‘I guess we were just trying too hard at first’, which never failed to make Rufus laugh also. The house had been added to as the family grew, but still retained its original charm.

Rufus paid the driver, and he and the Professor went up the driveway to the stairs, but not before Rufus took a long look at the street where he had played all the childhood games of hide-and-seek and tag and baseball. It was an ideal place to grow up, with all the friendliness of a small town, but only an hour’s drive from the worldly pleasures of San Francisco. In fact, the view of the city and the bay from the deck of his parent’s house never failed to capture Rufus’s heart.

“It’s absolutely lovely here,” said the Professor as they went up the stairs and through the gate to the back door. The back of the house was all windows, even the back door was mostly glass. They could see into the kitchen and dining room, but no one was visible inside. Rufus opened the door and they went in. His mother, now a widow, still failed to see the need to lock the doors most of the time. That is one of the joys of living in a small town.

“Hey, Mom, are you here?” Rufus yelled.

“I’m in here,” yelled the feisty 87 year old from the living room.

Rufus led the Professor through the dining room and its long table, and past an old fashioned foot-peddled player piano that uses old paper rolls to play songs, and on into the living room with its large windows overlooking the deck, the street, and the fantastic view beyond.

“I saw you on the TV,” said June Blacke. “What ever possesses you to do such things, Rufus? Oh, hello there.” She had just noticed that Rufus had brought someone with him.

The Professor ran a hand quickly through his fringe of bozo-hair, then extended his hand. “A distinct pleasure, Mrs. Blacke. I am Professor Fernando Finalis. Do please forgive this intrusion, won’t you?”

Rufus’s mother took the Professors hand, insisting on being called June, and warmly welcoming him to her home. Then she turned back to her son and asked, “So how long are you going to be hanging around this time, Rufus? Can you stay for a while, or will you be off fighting pirates before I have time to make us some lunch?”

“Very funny, Mom,” said Rufus.

“Ah, most amusing indeed, my dear Mrs. Blacke,” said the Professor. She reminded him to use her first name, and then asked Rufus, “Are you losing weight,” in a tone of professional motherly interest.

“Well, yeah, twenty five pounds. I’ve been doing the Wii fit work out, Mom. We should get you one of those. I’m even learning a little yoga. Look, I can do the tree pose,” and Rufus demonstrated the truth of this statement.

“Well, you look a little too thin to me,” was the reply he received.

They all went in to the kitchen where the Professor sat at the smaller kitchen table while June made a pot of tea and Rufus slapped together some sandwiches. The Professor admired the beauty of the flowers in the steeply rising back yard and was all together chatty, but for once he wasn’t chatting about history at all. Rufus realized with some amusement that the Professor was actually flirting with his mother, and his mother didn’t seem to mind at all. Before he had time to analyze his feelings, the back gate suddenly opened, and a man rushed into the back yard.

He was a trim and fit looking fellow, well groomed as well and wearing nice but casual clothing. All and all he looked like a businessman on his day off, except for the fact that he looked terrified. He glanced around wildly, saw the three of them through the windows, and leaped to the back door which he began to knock on frantically while he stared imploringly at them through the glass.

Rufus’s first thought was that this guy is on drugs. This was the Bay Area, after all. The Professor said with a chuckle, “He most likely wants an autograph, Rufus.” Rufus’s mother seemed to find this amusing as well. They couldn’t very well pretend not to see him, so Rufus saw no choice but to open the door, but he kept his large frame firmly blocking any entry until he could find out what this wild-eyed individual wanted.

“Mr. Blacke, we don’t have much time,” the fellow said.

Rufus thought to himself, oh, don’t we? But what he said was, “If this is about that press conference thing, I have no intention of going.”

“No, no, you don’t understand, but you need to come with me right now,” the fellow blurted. Rufus was still trying to determine if the stranger was a threat to his mother or not. But he didn’t seem dangerous so much as highly agitated. His neat, short, dark hair was just being touched by gray, and his handsome face was tanned and unlined, so that Rufus couldn’t even guess at his age, which could have been anywhere from thirty to a well-preserved late forties.

The man kept talking even as he seemed to be trying to organize his thoughts and calm down. “I was waiting for you on Treasure Island. I tracked you down through that guy with the long name, you know, the head cargo guy on the Hub. I tried to catch you at the gate, but you jumped in that cab so fast, I had to run to my car to follow you. I saw the cab get on the bridge going east, but then I lost it in the traffic, so I had to stop and try to figure out where you went, since you obviously were not going to the press conference. I used my phone to search and found a Mrs. Blacke in the directory, so I took a chance that this is where you went.”

“You obviously took some trouble to find me, so what do you want?” asked Rufus, not all that politely.

“Look, my name is Kirk Wallson. I work for the Enzyme Corporation, you know, the company that owns the hijacked ship?” The youngish man was still very flustered.

“And what do you do for them, young man?” asked Rufus’s mother, followed by a motherly, “Would you like a sandwich and some tea?”

“No, thank you,” said the rattled but obviously well brought-up man. “I, uh, work in, uh ‘procurement’, but I had no idea what was going on, I swear it!”

The way he said ‘procurement’ with such ominous quotes floating tangibly in the air around it made Rufus distinctly nervous.

“We have to go, Mr. Blacke,” the man continued. “There still may be enough time to do something to stop it.”

‘It’ didn’t sound good to Rufus either. “Stop what?” he found himself asking, even thought he didn’t really want to.

“They are going to kill the pirates, you know, those Whip Wasp guys?”

You might think that Rufus’s first concern would be either who was going to do this bad thing, or why they were going to do it, but if so, you forgot, obviously, that we are dealing with Rufus Blacke. Rufus glanced at the Professor, and then said, “It’s Wasp Whip, not Whip Wasp.” But then even he decided that there might be more important issues at stake here than credit for coming up with a really great tongue twister of a name. “Wait, who is going to do what?” he asked, once again against his better judgment.

“Enzyme Corp is sending some mercenaries to kill all the pirates you captured, because they are the only ones who know what really happened.” The man paused, and then added, “Except for me, I guess.”