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Part Three: Cat and Mouse
“This is worse than the time I got jumped by those field mice.” - Mystery Science Theater 3000
Cycles passed. Nothing. No one had been taken out; no one had even been attacked yet; but everyone was getting very, very nervous. Bob was feeling especially vulnerable: everybody else, it seemed, had an excuse to hole up in one of the safety zones, but he, as the system’s Guardian, was always having to zip all over Mainframe to make it into the games. True, Matrix and AndrAIa offered, sometimes even insisted on joining him, but Bob was too apprehensive to accept. How did he know they weren’t just going to wait until his back was turned, and then. . .Bob shook his head. This must be that widespread paranoia Mouse had been talking about. At least this game cube, he thought as he jogged across the street, had the decency to come late in the evening -- and land near the 8-ball complex. Not only were there fewer people around, but he wouldn’t have to go far to get to safety once the game left -- just in case anyone might be waiting for him.
The game was a home run derby -- easy enough, but time consuming. It was dark when the game finally left Mainframe. Bob glanced around, a little uneasily, and started to head back to his apartment building. As he walked, he thought about his own target. He hadn’t had as many chances as he’d first anticipated. Plus, something about this particular individual made it a little, well, difficult to just hunt her down like a wild animal. He’d have to get over this hesitation, he knew, if he wanted to stay alive in the game. Instinctively Bob looked over his shoulder. Nothing. Of course there’s nobody there. What did you expect? Every decent person is at home asleep. Somehow he hadn’t expected the streets to be this deserted. Almost without realizing it, he began to walk faster, mentally kicking himself for leaving his water gun at home. “Of all the basic. . .” he said to himself. “ ‘I don’t need it, it’ll only get in my way during the game.’ Good thinking, Bob. Now you’re a sitting duck.” He turned onto his street and let out a small sigh of relief. Almost there. Then he stopped dead. Something was following him. He whirled around, every muscle tensed for action -- and found himself peering into the empty darkness. Bewildered, he looked around. He could have sworn he heard something. Get a hold of yourself, he thought. Letting a stupid game get you all bent out of shape. No one’s back there, you’re imagining things. He started walking again, fast, with purpose -- and stopped again. This time, the footsteps continued for a few steps before lapsing into silence. Bob’s eyes widened in fear. There was no way he had imagined that. Someone was following him; or, more correctly, stalking him. Bob stood frozen to the spot, in full view of his apartment building, afraid to move, afraid to turn around. Suddenly, the owner of the footsteps grew tired of waiting and began to move again. Bob stood paralyzed in fear for a few nanoseconds before making a mad dash for the 8-ball complex. The footsteps also picked up speed, getting louder with each stride. His assassin was gaining on him. If I can just make it to the door, just get inside. . . The Guardian stopped short as an idea occurred to him. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? It was so obvious. He raised his right arm and, in a brilliant flash of light, created a portal to the inside of his apartment, then disappeared into it.
Bob stumbled out of the portal and collapsed on his couch. I really am basic, he thought. Forgetting all about using a portal. How low-density can you get? He took in a deep breath, then exhaled, grateful to have gotten away. That was a close one. Whoever was tracking him was good -- very good. This was going to be tough. Bob picked himself up off the couch and plodded off to bed, exhausted from his little stint as someone’s prey.
Out on the street, a lone figure looked up at the top-floor apartment’s window. “Almost had you, didn’t I?” the hunter said into the darkness before shouldering a Super Soaker and walking off into the night.
*********
“So nothing’s happened to you yet?” AndrAIa asked.
“No. How about you?”
Matrix and AndrAIa looked at each other, then AndrAIa said, “Yeah, someone was camped out outside our building last night.”
Dot stared at them. “Really? All night?” As the pair nodded, Dot shook her head in wonderment. “Geez. Do you know who it was?”
“No. All we could see from the window was a shadow. They were just waiting by the door for us -- well, one of us,” Matrix answered.
“Then how’d you get out of the place this morning? Had they left?” Ray asked. AndrAIa started to reply, but Matrix put a hand on her arm. “Nice try, Surfer. W e aren’t giving away any of our secrets, if you don’t mind.”
Ray looked surprised. “You say that like you suspect me.”
Matrix nodded. “Yeah, but don’t take it personally. I suspect everybody.”
Ray nodded approvingly. Just then, the doors flew open, and a rather agitated Bob skidded inside. The other Sprites stared at him questioningly. Bob, not noticing their expressions, sat down in the booth with them, breathing heavily. A few microseconds passed before he realized that no one was speaking; they were all just watching him. “What?”
The others exchanged amused glances. Dot spoke up: “Um, Bob -- are you okay?”
“Me? Oh, yeah, I’m great. As good as can be expected when you’re being tailed nonstop by some lunatic with a Super Soaker!”
“Don’t tell me you’re out of the game already?!” Matrix said.
“No, I’m still in. But the way my assassin is operating, he’s either going to get me out or delete me trying. I would have used a portal to get here, but I didn’t want to waste the energy. I want to save it for when I really need it.” This comment was met with more silence from the group. Again, Dot stepped in: “Uh, Bob. . .honey. . .I think you might be taking this a little too seriously.”
“Oh, am I?” With that, he proceeded to tell them all what had happened the night before. When he finished, the Sprites were once again silent.
“Wow,” said AndrAIa. “Whoever that is really knows what they’re doing.”
“Tell me about it. And they’re driving me crazy in the process. I know I’m acting really paranoid, but wouldn’t you if you were chased into your apartment in the dead of night?”
“Well, at any rate, you’re safe in here,” said Dot, putting an arm around him. As she finished speaking, the doors to the diner banged opened as Captain Capacitor entered, causing an already fidgety Bob to nearly jump out of his skin. Dot rolled her eyes at him, then rose to greet her friend and business partner. “Captain! I thought you were shipping out today.”
“That was and still is the plan, lass. But I’ve been asked to deliver a message to the Guardian.”
All eyes turned to Bob. “What is it?” he asked. Instead of answering, Capacitor hobbled to the table and gestured to AndrAIa’s half-finished energy shake. “May I, Miss?”
“Of course.” AndrAIa slid the cup toward him. The captain moved the straw up and down a few times; then he sucked up a strawful of liquid, pulled the straw out of the cup, and spit its contents directly into Bob’s face. He then returned the shake to its rightful owner, took out a small piece of paper, and handed it to the speechless Guardian. Capacitor turned to Dot, who was still trying to decide what to make of all this. “I shall see you when we return with next minute’s shipment, my lady. Until then.” And with that, he bowed to the still-stunned company and departed.
The Sprites turned their confused gazes to Bob. He wiped his face and looked at the note he had been handed. “ ‘There’s more where that came from. Signed, Your Assassin.’ “ He tossed the note onto the table. “See what I mean? This guy’s out for blood!” At that moment a disturbing thought hit him. “All right. Which one of you is behind this?” he asked menacingly. The others didn’t answer; they just avoided eye contact. AndrAIa studied the note. “Wait - whose handwriting is this?”
Bob snatched the slip of paper from her, scrutinizing it. Dot, looking over his shoulder, had the answer. “It’s Gavin’s.”
Bob turned to her, the expression of a doomed man on his face. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Your assassin had the captain write this note for them.”
For the fifth time that morning, there was silence in the booth as the meaning of this sank in. After several microseconds, Ray spoke. “Bob, if I could be blunt,” he began.
“By all means.”
“You’re screwed.”
*********
Dot hurried onto the porch, called out one last reminder to Enzo to behave himself, shut the door, and hopped into the waiting car -- which, by some unexplainable miracle, had decided to actually run. She turned to the driver. “I’m surprised you agreed to this. You’ve been so jittery lately.”
Bob shrugged. “Yeah, well, you were right. I need to do something to get my mind off it. Besides,” he added, jerking his thumb toward the backseat, “I brought along some insurance.”
Dot stared in disbelief, first at the Super Soaker sitting comfortably in back, then at Bob. “You didn’t.”
“Didn’t you?”
Dot gestured to her form-fitting outfit of khakis and a black top. “And where would you propose I keep it?”
Bob raised an eyebrow at her. “Well. . .”
“Eyes on the road.”
“Sorry.” Bob reluctantly turned his attention back to driving. “Aren’t you the least bit worried that your assassin might try something?”
Dot rested her elbow on the edge of the door. “Nope.”
“Not at all?” As she shook her head in reply, he asked, “Why not?”
“A, it’s just a game,” she said, poking him in the side. “And B, I’ve pretty much given up on my assassin. I haven’t seen a trace of them since this whole thing began. I’m starting to wonder if I even have one,” she said with a smile.
“Well, everybody’s got one,” Bob said.
“Well, then mine is really lousy at this. I mean, the game’s been going on for over a week now -- nothing. You’d think they’d have at least made an attempt by now. Even I’ve tried to go after my target, and I am by no means good at this sort of thing.”
Bob’s only response was a muted “Mm-hm.” He was staring intently at the road ahead. Dot looked at him with concern. “Hey,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. “You all right?”
“Uh, yeah. Fine. Just a little distracted, I guess.” He let out a small cough. “What movie are we seeing again?”
“The new James Bond.”
Bob glanced over at her with a smile. “I can’t believe you like Bond films so much. They don’t seem like your type of movies.”
Dot shrugged. “They’re fun.”
Bob gave her a knowing smile. “You want to be a Bond girl, don’t you?”
Dot’s response was indignant. “Of course not.” She studied her nails for a moment before adding, with a self-confident air, “I want to be Bond.”
Bob had to laugh at that. Dot turned to him, feigning offense. “And just what is so funny?”
“It’s. . . just that I can easily picture you doing that.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Nice save.”
“Thanks.”
They rode in silence for a few microseconds; then Dot said, “No, wait; I changed my mind. I don’t want to be Bond, I want to be the Bond girl he doesn’t get.”
Bob nodded. “Interesting. I’m afraid those don’t exist, though.”
“So I’ll be the first. He can just want me really badly,” she remarked with a smirk.
“Well, that’s a given,” Bob said without thinking. As Dot turned to him with a look of amusement and mild shock, he reddened slightly. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Mm-hmm.” There was a brief awkward silence as Dot let his slightly embarrassing compliment sink in. She laughed to herself; for all Bob’s show of self-assurance, he had an insecurity that was positively endearing. She decided to bring the subject back from the tangent it had taken. “We’re also seeing this movie because I think watching someone else get shot at for a while will take your mind off your own. . . predicament.”
“Or remind me of it even more.”
Dot rolled her eyes. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Bob nodded proudly. “But that’s why you love me.”
Dot laughed. “Just keep telling yourself that,” she replied with a grin.
Bob narrowed his eyes at her, than reached over and lightly jabbed her in the side, just above her waist. Dot jumped slightly and let out a squeal. As the car glided smoothly up to a red light, Bob turned to her with raised eyebrows. “Why, Dot; you wouldn’t be ticklish, would you?”
Dot pressed herself against the passenger door and held up a hand in warning. “Don’t you dare,” she said, emphasizing each syllable.
Bob’s expression was absolutely angelic. “Don’t I dare what?” he asked innocently. “This?” He poked her again, resulting in another yelp. He moved in a third time, but this time Dot slapped his hand away. Bob turned to her with an “Oh-no-you-didn’t” look on his face. “Oh, now you’re in for it.” Dot curled herself into a defensive ball in the passenger seat; she was prepared to fend off the attack when she noticed her saving grace: “The light’s green,” she said.
“Huh?” Bob looked up at the traffic light. He slapped his hand against the steering wheel in frustration, then started to drive. Dot leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, relieved. Bob, however, wasn’t ready to let this fight go just yet. He silently walked his fingers along the back edge of the seat. His hand had just touched her shoulder when Dot, without opening her eyes, said, “Take it off or I break it off.” Bob quickly returned his hand to the steering wheel. Dot smirked at him. “You just behave yourself.” Bob lowered his head. “Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly. He ventured a glance at her and found her grinning at him. He carefully reached over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders -- and this time, she let him keep it there.
*********
Dot’s right, Bob mused to himself as he watched the onscreen action. This is a fun movie. Of course, after twenty microseconds of previews, it ought to be. At the moment, though, the Guardian had more important matters to attend to. He rose from his seat and began to make his way to the aisle. Dot gave him a passing glance as he squeezed past her. “Where are you going?” she whispered.
“Bathroom,” he whispered back. “Let me know what I miss.”
“Okay. Wait -- do you have to take that with you?” she said, gesturing to the water gun dangling from his belt. As he nodded, she said, “What, do you think someone’s waiting for you in the men’s room?” Bob shrugged in reply, then proceeded out of the theater. Dot turned her attention back to the movie, but not before laughing a bit to herself. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.
Bob pushed open the bathroom door and entered, turning his nose up a bit at the smell. He looked around, then peeked under each of the stall doors, looking for feet. No one. Perfect; he was alone. He walked over to a mirror and laid his hands on the edge of the sink. “Okay, “ he said to his reflection, “enough stalling. You’re going to do this tonight; you’ve wussed out of it for long enough. After the movie, just hold the door open for her, and then bam --” he shot a sidelong glance at the Super Soaker laying on the counter --”one quick shot in the back and it’s over. She’s out of the game, and you can concentrate on staying in it.”
Bob was so engrossed in his little pep talk that he didn’t notice a pair of bronze-colored combat boots appear below the stall door behind him. “She’s not going to be mad; like she said, it’s just a game.” He looked down at his hands. “But can I really shoot her when she’s unarmed?”
“In a few nanoseconds, sugah, you won’t have to worry about it.”
Bob jerked his head up to see Mouse’s reflection behind his own. “Mouse?! What in the Net are you --” he broke off as he noticed a water gun aimed straight at the back of his head. Mouse’s hand was on the trigger. “You?!”
Mouse smiled smugly. “Me. Some of my best mercenary work, too. You proud?”
Bob let out a small laugh. “Very.” He cast a sidelong glance at his own water gun. Behind him, Mouse pumped the handle and prepared to fire. Bob had one chance; he drew in a breath and made a lunge for his Super Soaker. Unfortunately, Mouse was ready for this. In one swift motion she knocked the gun to the floor, grabbed his hand and spun him around so he was facing her. She pressed his back up against the edge of the sink and pointed the nozzle of her Super Soaker right between his eyes. Bob gulped and braced himself for the shot. Mouse chuckled arrogantly. “Ah’m afraid Ah don’t share your view on shooting an enemy in cold blood.” She winked at the helpless Guardian and pulled the trigger.
Bob spluttered as an icy stream of water hit him directly in the face. Mouse released her grip and stepped back. “Gotcha,” she said sweetly.
“No kidding,” Bob replied. “Thanks,” he added as the hacker handed him a towel. She hopped up on the edge of the sink. “So how’s your date going?”
“Well, it was going just fine,” Bob replied with a half-smile. “I don’t believe this. I was so determined not to be the first one out, and. . .well, I’m soaked.”
“Yeah, Ah gotcha pretty good, didn’t Ah?”
“How long have you been in here?”
“About half a millisecond.”
Bob’s mouth fell open. “You’ve been standing on a toilet in a movie theater men’s room for half a millisecond?”
“Yup. Ah was startin’ to wonder what was taking you so long.” Mouse stood up. “Well, Ah suppose Ah should let you get back to your date. Now remember the rules -- no tellin’ any other players you’re out. We don’t want anyone narrowing down the suspects.”
“I won’t.” Bob sighed. “I’m not looking forward to telling Cecil I’m out, though. He’s going to have a field day with this.”
Mouse strolled out of the bathroom, ignoring the stares she got from other moviegoers. Bob picked his Super Soaker up off the floor, stared at it silently for a moment, and emptied its contents into the sink.
Dot barely looked at him as he returned to his seat. “They were chasing him on snowmobiles, but he got away,” she whispered. “What took you so long?”
“Um. . .there was a line.”
“A line in the men’s room? That’s a new one.”
“Yeah, tonight’s just full of surprises.” He settled back into his seat. Dot leaned her head against his shoulder -- and quickly lifted it back up. “Why are you all wet?”