The Bikini Break
IV - Asinine Provisions
Gadget was up with the first chirp of her alarm clock. She dressed in a pair of sage green flight coveralls and shiny black boots, re-packed her bag and headed out to meet the Scruffies. Correction: she thought. The other two Scruffies. That thought prompted a satisfied swagger on the way, as she found it quite pleasing to be an official part of the team.
Entering the front room, Gadget paused, then followed her nose to the kitchen. Gary was just putting away a frying pan when she came in.
“Feeling okay?” she asked.
“Just fine, thanks,” he said with a smile. “Did you get enough sleep?”
“Sure. You two keep letting me sleep in. I want to help with the heavy lifting as well as the fun stuff.”
“Gordon reset both our alarm clocks while we were talking last night. He’s been loading up the gear Sol Gorsky sent over. And I better kick him out of the hanger or he won’t get anything to eat. I’ve got breakfast goodies warm in the oven and fresh coffee. Help yourself.”
Gary scooted off to the hanger, and Gadget explored the breakfast options. In the oven she found neatly made cheese omelets and little bite-size pancakes. Gordon came in as she was pouring a cup of coffee.
“Mornin’, Gadget.”
“Hi. Were you playing sandman last night?”
“You and Gary had a rough night and I knew neither of you were going to get enough sleep. I was just taking out some flight insurance.”
Gordon poured a cup of coffee. He eyed it suspiciously as he stirred it.
“Did you let Gary make the coffee?”
“It was on the stove when I came in. Why?”
“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea, but Gary has this problem making coffee.”
“He told me you were the one who makes strong coffee.”
“I do make it strong, for myself. But Gary has this effect...”
Gadget watched in increasing amazement as Gordon braced the cup and pulled the spoon out. Or tried to. The coffee followed it, stretching like taffy. He let go and the coffee slowly retreated to the cup like a wounded tentacle, dragging the spoon with it.
“What’d he put in there?” Gadget whispered, awestruck.
“If typical, he put in coffee and water.” He gave the spoon another tentative pull. The coffee-like substance greedily pulled it back in. “It’s never the same twice. If I could figure out how he does this, I could conquer the world.”
They ate quickly, all the while keeping a cautious eye on the coffee pot. After a quick wash of the plates, Gordon picked up the pot and carefully poured it down the drain.
“Is it safe to do that?” Gadget asked, a bit alarmed. “Who knows what that stuff will do next?”
“After a while, it starts to behave like actual coffee,” Gordon replied. “It’s when it’s fresh from the pot you have to be careful. Just try not to let him make coffee again, okay?”
“I promise,” Gadget said sincerely.
Gordon picked up Gadget’s duffel bag in the front room and guided her toward the hanger. She turned right at the heavy protective door and was surprised to see no activity around the Vertijet, the vertical take-off jet transport they had used on the mission to Tillamook. Gordon indicated she should continue to the large bay at the far end of the hanger. This part of the hanger was vast by rodent standards, yet Gadget hardly noticed the size. Her vision was filled by the aircraft that stood there. It was a giant, well over fifteen feet long and nearly that in wingspan. Slender and sleek, the plane’s fuselage had a compact nose and cockpit that broadened into a cylindrical cargo section, giving the whole the appearance of a rifle cartridge. The varible-sweep wings and tail, as well as the stork-like landing gear, could have been lifted from a B-1 bomber. It was an aircraft built for speed. Gadget wondered if it was setting animal aviation records just sitting there.
“Golly on the half-shell,” Gadget marveled aloud. “When are you two going to stop popping up with mechanical miracles?”
“This is the last one we have that flies,” Gordon said, smiling. “We have responsibilities that extend across the Pacific and we sometimes have to get on the scene fast. She’ll cruise at three times the speed of sound and she’s stealthy enough to get past any air defense, human or animal.” He gave a short, courtly bow. “Miss Hackwrench, meet The Bullet.”
“This wasn’t some aircraft company’s model.” Gadget swept her gaze over the craft. “No one’s built or even proposed anything like this.”
“No humans have,” Gordon agreed. “Rodents have their own ideas of cutting edge aviation. This was scratch built on a concealed research line at Grumman. Humans only wish they could build like this.”
“And this will get across the Pacific? Does it carry that much fuel?”
“Piece o’ cake. Someday, some human will figure out how much latent power there is in barbecue lighter fluid and a new age in energy efficiency will dawn. ‘Till then, the secret’s all ours.”
A whirring sound from the plane drew Gadget’s attention and she saw a bomb bay like hatch open in the bottom of the fuselage. A platform suspended from steel wires descended with Gary holding a radio transmitter which controlled the winch. Gary hopped off the platform and joined them.
“Just the luggage left to load,” he said. “Gadget, go ahead up front and take the co-pilot’s seat. It’s a nice view leaving the coast.”
Gadget went forward and found a ladder extending through a hatch just behind the nose landing gear. She climbed into the darkened interior and came out just behind the cockpit. The cargo deck seemed enormous. A long, vacant industrial space typical of military cargo jets. It formed a cylinder almost a foot in diameter and nearly ten feet long. Several stacks of equipment covered by tie-down nets took up an insignificant amount of the available space. She turned and entered the cockpit and found a perfect miniature of an airliner flight deck. There were tandem controls and an instrument panel that was half LCD screens. To either side were positions for a flight engineer and navigator. And along the rear bulkhead was a set of four facing airline-type seats with a table in between them, looking like a booth from a restaurant. Gadget whistled in admiration as Gordon came up the ladder.
“Your suppliers are doing some top-notch work,” she said. “I’m starting to get jealous.”
“All right, Gadget,” Gordon rejoined. “Let’s say this instrument panel got blasted to bits. How long would it take you to build something sufficient to guide us home from the mid-Pacific?”
“If I have some parts? An afternoon, I guess.”
“Over a dozen animals worked more than four months to gather the components and assemble this panel.” Gordon patted the top of the panel for emphasis. “If this is your competition, you have no competition. You’re not just a genius, you’re a miracle worker.”
“You’re trying to sweet talk me like Gary did,” she warned.
His tongue lapped rapidly at the corners of his mouth. “That’s what that sugary taste is,” he smiled disarmingly.
Gary came up the ladder and squeezed into the pilot’s seat. Gordon strapped himself into the navigator’s seat behind him as Gary ran the checklist and started the engines. Gadget climbed into the right hand co-pilot’s seat and cinched her safety belt. She knew once these two got moving, they wouldn’t waste any time. Sunlight began to fill the hanger and Gadget saw the far end of the hanger open onto a patch of blue sky. From the way the light shifted, she knew an identical door must have opened behind them. She did a double take at the runway ahead. Specifically because there was no runway ahead.
“How much take-off roll does this plane need?” she asked nervously.
“Oh, about a thousand feet.” Gary answered as he completed the checklist.
“You’ve barely got seventy feet here! You’ll crash before you get airspeed! What are you doing?”
“Just tuck your feet against the seat, and we’re outta here.” Gary said as he slammed the throttles forward.
“Gary!”
“Set!” Gordon barked.
“SHOOT!”
Gadget expected an immediate crash and threw her feet forward to brace against the instrument panel. Her feet never touched it. Acceleration of four and a half G’s squashed her into her seat. Her rear end slipped down the cushion, her legs splayed and her feet went up over the seat back. Her tail, quite out of control, swung up and tickled her face. It was several seconds before the pressure let up and she could get her feet back on the deck. Out the windshield he could see the ground rapidly falling away as the Bullet gained altitude.
“Gad-get,” Gary laughed, “you’re supposed to fly with your other end forward!”
“It’s nice to know you’re that nimble, though,” Gordon quipped. “That position comes in handy for all sorts of things.”
“You didn’t tell me that was a catapult launch!” Gadget gasped.
“I didn’t want to worry you.” Gary smirked.
“Wait a minute. What was that about my position?”
“You fly with your other end forward.”
“After that!”
“It was a catapult launch.”
“Between those two! About my position?”
“Yes, Gadget” Gary acquiesced smoothly. “It’s called the Argentine Flyswatter, and ‘between two’ is exactly what it’s for. I didn’t think you’d want to know that.”
“Next she’ll want to know the truth about squirrels and pants,” Gordon stage whispered.
“Nope,” Gary answered. “She’s a scientist. She’ll want to see for herself.”
“What kind of wisecrack is that to make!” she howled, beginning to blush. “Stop that this instant!”
They laughed heartily, and she decided to let them to go on living. As she settled back in her seat, she was aware of a feeling that wasn’t anger or outrage. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite identify. It was a warm and close feeling, but not a “one of the guys” feeling, and her inability to put a name to it disturbed her.
* * *
Though the Bullet would make the trip in a little over two hours, Gadget dozed off at the aft table while reading “Exotic Juggling,” the book Gary had loaned her. The interrupted night and soft drone of high altitude flight served to lull her to sleep.
Gordon came aft from the cockpit and noticed Gadget wince in her sleep. He sat across from her and watched her. She was far from sleeping peacefully and awoke with a start, looking about as if she wasn’t sure where she was.
“Gary’s not the only one having bad dreams,” Gordon observed.
“Huh? No, no, I just woke up. I was stretching.”
Gordon’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to look right into her. “It was a bad dream. It was me and Gary doing something violent and it scared you.”
Her eyes went wide in shock. “I knew it that first morning I woke up at the Nest Egg. You are reading my mind! You couldn’t know that any other way! You listen to me, Gordon! Don’t start poking around in my mind!”
“I didn’t read your mind,” he insisted. “You were in REM sleep. I could see your eyes moving under your eyelids. You were kicking and making little squeaking sounds just before you woke up. And you wouldn’t have denied having a bad dream unless you didn’t want to hurt my feelings.” He sighed deeply. “Gadget, I know, with all our secrecy it’s hard to trust us, but you don’t have to hide the way you feel from us. We’re not going to think badly of you.”
“I do trust you. Really. And I don’t want to hurt your feelings. This dream was so weird I was afraid you’d think I don’t trust you.”
“Okay, come clean. What happened?”
She looked away a moment and began, quietly and a bit embarrassed. “I dreamed you two swooped in on a Ranger’s case. You came in with big knives sliced up everybody but me. The bad guys, the other Rangers, everybody. Then you dragged me away. The weird thing was none of them seemed to be hurt. The guys just complained as if you’d only tied their shoelaces together. I was fighting you two and trying to get back to them. I kept telling you that I had to staple them back together or they’d go stale. It was more zany than scary. ”
“Chopped them to pieces, did we?’ Gordon said thoughtfully. “Did they have that kind of ‘bone-in’ cross section?”
“Yes! That was it exactly!”
“Ham bone or T-bone?”
“T-bone. Does it make a difference?”
“T-bones were always the Fleischer Studios. Ham bones were MGM. It just shows how you favor the old classics.”
“Couldn’t it be the Disney Studios?”
“Certainly not!” Gordon said. “Disney never cut his characters apart. They all stretched like rubber.”
“I did that once. I borrowed Dale’s Rubber Bando meteorite. It was a very strange sensation. Especially the rebound.”
“You don’t seem the type to be prone to nightmares. Do you ever have reoccurring dreams?”
She looked down shyly. “You won’t make fun of me?”
“Of course not!”
“I keep having dreams that I’m an actress in Hollywood making big budget feature movies.”
“That’s hardly an unusual dream theme. Ever have one that really scared you?”
“I once dreamed Ralph Bakshi picked up my contract.” She shivered at the memory. “That was scary. I hear Pearl Pureheart is still in therapy.”
Gordon chuckled and went back up to the cockpit, leaving Gadget knowing perfectly well what her dream meant. It had been popping up ever since Gordon had saved both their lives with a slash of his fighting knife. He had only cut a rope, but the swiftness and certainty of the act spoke of long practice in the martial arts. She had to face facts. She had acquired a pair of new friends. Undoubtably the best of the good guys. Kind and careful and overly protective of her. Intelligent, quick-witted, strong-willed and quite mature in their attitudes. And each of them a trained, skilled, experienced killer. She could accept all this sensibly and rationally. But somewhere, deep down, her subconscious told her they were dangerous. The Rescue Rangers were tough fighters, but these two were men of war, and some small part of her wanted her to run from them as fast as she could, before it was too late.
* * *
They flew over the famous Bikini Island and approached a tiny island in the atoll, barely more than a bit of sand and coral. Before World War Two the island had not even been inhabited by the local human Bikini tribe, who only used it as a stopping-off place in their travels between islands, owing to its near lack of fresh water. Gadget could see a short paved airfield and the remains of a small military installation. It had supported an emergency airfield during the war, and an observation post for nuclear testing through the Sixties. Since the Test Ban Treaty, its only inhabitants had been a small tribe of mice, the ‘Iole Palahlaha, who made their living from the sea, and wanted nothing more than to live their lives in peace.
Gary brought the Bullet in for a perfect landing on the old concrete airstrip. Life on the island was evidently so slow-paced that the runway had not been reclaimed by vegetation even after forty years. Gary parked near the north end of the field and they climbed down to survey the area.
Gadget took a deep breath and stretched languidly. “Warm sun, sea air,” she sighed. “If the beach matches the atmosphere you may not get me to leave here.”
“I thought exactly the same thing the first time I was here,” Gary agreed. “Considering where the radioactivity was detected, we should set up camp over on the east beach. The ‘Iole village is on the west shore.”
“Are you going to tell them what’s going on?” Gadget asked.
“No sense causing a lot of unnecessary concern. This could turn out to be nothing.”
Gadget turned toward the sound of a motor starting and watched the cargo lift descend from the hold of the Bullet. Gary had stacked a few small bundles beside him on the platform. “I thought we’d just take the basics,” he said. “We’ve got an electric drive ATV aboard we can use to haul the dive gear down to the beach later. ”
It was only a few minutes walk through low flowering ferns and palm trees to the beach. The beach was gently sloped, comfortably wide and exceptionally clean. Gadget stopped short, plopped down on the edge of the sand, and began to unlace her boots.
“Gadget, what are you doing?”
“I know you’re always worried about my safety, but I am not walking on a pristine white sand beach in jump boots.”
“Well, keep them handy,” Gary said skeptically. “The humans left all sorts of crud when they left here for good.”
“I am always careful,” Gadget insisted. “This is supposed to be a pleasant mini-vacation. Will you two just relax?”
Gary looked sidewards at Gordon. “I think relaxing will be a team effort.”
“Gotcha,” he replied. “You Hakuna. I’ll Matata.”
“You goofs,” Gadget said warmly.
“I’d like to get in a swim to work out the kinks after that flight,” Gary said. “Join us?”
“Mmmmm,” Gadget said, wiggling her toes in the warm sand. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
She unslung her duffel bag and dug into the top. And dug toward the bottom. And rummaged around the bottom. Then stood up with a perplexed expression. “I was sure I...” Then she realized the truth. “Oh, crumbs!”
“Something wrong?” Gordon asked.
“I forgot to pack my swimsuit. I must have left it back at the Nest Egg.” She sighed in resignation. “Well, I can make do with a wet suit top.”
“The water here is 85 degrees,” Gary said. “We didn’t bring any wet suits. You can dive without one, can’t you?”
Her jaw dropped in shock. “Oh, no you don’t! I am not going to become an ‘R’ rated example of ‘skin diving!’”
“We brought a couple of extra swimsuits for you, just in case” Gordon chuckled. “Suits get damaged on reef dives.”
“Or lost completely,” Gary added helpfully.
“Here ya go,” Gordon tossed her a tiny package, the mouse size version of an invitation envelope. Stunned, Gadget opened the packet and took out a bit of soft black fabric that didn’t even reach the edges of her palm.
“Are you crazy!? The Pi-Rats have eyepatches bigger than this!”
“Give it a chance,” Gary chided. “Shake it out.”
She gave the bit of cloth a tentative shake. Then a bit more. With each agitation the fabric seemed to expand and relax, growing larger. “What did you guys do?”
“We put it in the five-ton press in the hanger shop,” Gary grinned. “Just for visual effect.”
She shook out the swimsuit with vigor and it fluffed into a demur one-piece Jantzen with a vertical white and lavender accent stripe. It was not only tasteful, it was stylish. Except for one apparent detail.
“Gary,” she threatened, holding the suit in front of herself, “if this is a thong bottom, I’ll clobber you!”
“HAHAHAHAHA! Gadget, you’re holding it backwards!”
“Oh! Oh, it’s... okay then,” she said sheepishly. “Thank you.”
“Traditionally,” Gordon announced, “Girls to the ferns on the left, boys to the right.”
They retired to their respective underbrush and emerged in a few minutes. Gadget found the Scruffies unpacking the camping gear. It was her first chance to get a good look at them “in the fur,” as it were. Gordon wore a pair of baggy swim trunks in a garish pink flurescent floral pattern that Dale would have been proud to make into a dinner jacket. Her earlier estimate of his physique had not done him justice by half. Even relaxed, he was a mass of sculpted squirrel strength. If they wanted a model for a statue for the next Animalympics, he would have been Gadget’s choice. Gary had on a close fitting Speedo, dark blue with silver trim and emblazoned “USAF” on the edge. His patagium, the loose skin of his gliding cape, made him seem at first glance a bit overweight. Gadget wasn’t fooled by that. Gary didn’t have Gordon’s muscular definition, but it was clear his body was powerful rather than just strong. Together they were like a bridge, stone and steel, their strengths complimenting each other instead of competing. But if they were ever to wrestle, and Gadget had to bet on the outcome, she decided she’d have to flip a coin, and kiss the wager goodbye.
“Hey, that suit looks great on you,” Gordon said. “Whataya say, partner? Swimsuit issue materiel or what?”
“Of course it’s nice,” Gary responded. “I was careful when I picked ‘em out.”
“Thanks for thinking of me,” Gadget said sincerely. “And thanks for choosing something that wouldn’t embarrass me.”
“Last one in’s a cat’s breakfast!” Gordon shouted, and took off for the water. Gadget and Gary pursued, but Gordon’s head start was insurmountable. Gary reached out and grasped Gadget’s hand as they neared the water, steadying her as they hit the surf and making last place a tie. Gadget swam with even, powerful strokes, cutting the water and pulling ahead of both of her friends. Once they were past the gentle breakers, they slowed and floated on the glassy lagoon.
Gordon surfaced and squirted a graceful arc of sea water. “Gadget, you swim like a seal. We picked a good dive master.”
“Was I right about not needing wet suits?” Gary asked.
“This water is nice and warm,” Gadget said. “Diving here should be fun. It’s too bad we have to work on our holiday.”
“It shouldn’t take long,” Gary said. “The head of the contamination plume couldn’t be too far out. The bottom drops off fast just past the coral reef.”
“How do you plan to get out there?” Gadget asked, smoothing her hair out of her face.
“We brought an inflatable Zodiac boat with a one-tenth c.c. engine. Easy as can be.”
“You two really don’t have much dive experience,” Gadget said. “It’s hard to climb into an inflatable from the water. How about I fix up a dive raft? I only need something that’s flat and floatable.”
“Sounds great,” Gary said. He turned onto his back, squinting at the bright sun. “We can leave it for the islanders to use when we’re done.”
“I’ll scrounge for the raft,” Gordon offered. “There’s plenty of stuff over at the old military barracks.”
“I’ll go with you,” Gadget said. “I want to get my hands on some parts.”
“Any particular kinds of parts?” Gordon leered.
“You watch your language, Mister,” Gadget reproved gently.
They paddled back to shore, Gadget easily beating the guys by body surfing the last few yards.
“You two go ahead and change,” Gordon called, throwing a towel around his neck. “I’m going to jog back to the Bullet.”
Gadget waved to him and headed into her share of the underbrush with her duffel bag. She stopped in a small clearing and fished into her bag for her towel and beachwear, a sunny yellow lightweight top and shorts that she had hardly worn since the Ranger’s last case in Hawaii, along with a pair of deck shoes. She peeled the swimsuit off and began to towel her fur dry. Then, despite being soaking wet, she felt her fur try to stand on end. Gadget hesitated, suddenly getting the feeling of being watched. She turned slowly to look behind her. A mouse face was peering at her out of the ferns. One of the island’s native mice. Male, grinning broadly, and all of two years old.
“Shoo, you!” Gadget scolded. The child only giggled in response. She decided the intrusion was harmless and turned away. “Are all boys the same?” she muttered. “They all want to stare at the girls.” She flipped her towel behind her, drying her back and vigorously buffing her rump, then her fur stood up once again. Again she slowly turned to check on the tiny snooper. He was still there, now joined by three new faces. All very male and very adult!
“EEEEEEEYAAHHHHHH!!!” she shrieked, trying to hide her entire body behind the towel, which was utterly inadequate for the task. “Whataya think you’re doing! Go away!!” Gadget grabbed the only thing she could find to throw at them, a handful of sand, and let fly. The sand became a harmless cloud even as it left her hand, and the intruders only smiled with big white teeth. At that moment, a female voice screeched something indistinct but obviously charged with anger. Their smiles changed to stark terror and they took off at a run, even the toddler.
“And whatever she said goes double for me!!” Gadget yelled as they scurried away.
“Are you okay?” Gary called from the distance.
“Stay away!” Gadget shouted back. “I’ve had enough of Peeping Toms!”
“I’m way over here!” he said, bewildered. He was far enough away that Gadget wasn’t sure where he was.
“I don’t mean you!”
“Gordon, you sleezeball!” Gary bellowed. “Knock it off!”
“Not him!”
“Let’s see,” he puzzled loudly. “One, two, three... I give up. Who’s left?”
“The islanders! They were peeking through the bushes at me! Three... well, four of em!”
“Gadget, don’t get excited, Gary said calmly. “Most of the adult ‘Iole are mated. They were probably just fascinated by your blonde hair. They don’t have any sense of body shyness. For the most part, neither men or women wear clothes at all, except for celebrations and visitors.”
“You’ve got me running around on The Island of Naked Mousettes and you didn’t tell me?!”
“It’s their home, Gadget. Given the climate it’s perfectly sensible.”
She heard female laughter and peered out of the ferns across the beach. She spied a half-dozen female mice running down the beach to frolic in the water, all gloriously nude.
“I was right before,” Gadget whispered to herself. “This is ‘No-Bikini Atoll!’”
* * *