"Alas, Mrs. Robinson...this won't be a bloodless revolution. This is revenge. Revenge on those who put me here...and I...I can't do it alone..." he turned around and spotted a small object moving on the ceiling. Jumping up and swatting at it, his arm came down and caught Maureen square in the face. His hand raised triumphantly, he waved the fly like a trophy...

 "Then again, now that I have you...I might not need them anymore." He popped the dead fly into his mouth and ate it.

 "And they thought I couldn't harm a fly..." the madman began to laugh.

 Maureen rubbed her sore cheek ruefully. It stung like the dickens. Even so, she quickly forgot about the pain. Now was not the time to worry over something so trivial when she was trapped with a raving lunatic. Now was the time to keep him distracted, to keep him talking.

 "Why did you hurt me?" she asked carefully, backing away slowly.

 "Hurt you?" His tone was suddenly one of surprise and injury. His expression showed confusion. "Whyever should I hurt you? After all is said and done and notarized by the proper authorities, I need you."

 "Need me?" Maureen asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Need me how?" She took one more step back. The sensation of backing into an icy cold wall made her jump, stifling a scream. A quick peek behind her told Maureen she had bumped into one of those floating mirrors. Stepping to the right, she paused.

 The man shook his head again. "No, I'm fairly certain I need you very much in one piece. What good is a dead...a...oh, what's that word? The one where someone carries messages between two sides? You know, the inter-thingy?"

 "Intermediary?" Maureen asked tentatively. Another step back now, ever so gently. A few more and she should be at the entrance to the hallway.

 He snapped his fingers. "Yes! That's the one! What's the use of an intermediary if she's in pieces!" He clapped his hands in delight. "Of course, maybe it's not entirely accurate in this case, but you get the general idea. You won't be doing so much as carrying a message as doing a small favor for me."

 "Why should I do a favor for you?" she blurted out. Inwardly she chastised herself. Bad choice of words. Don't contradict or challenge him. Let him think he's in control.

 Smiling gently, the man replied in a soft, comforting voice, "Because if you don't, I'll wring your little girls' necks until they *ooze*."

 Maureen froze right where she stood.

 She just shook her head quietly. They couldn't talk here. The guard in the seat across from them was watching them closely. His rifle lay across his lap, ready to used at a moment's notice. Zoe watched him closely, if only to occupy her mind for a moment. He had graying hair, a prominent nose, and otherwise bland features. A name patch stated his name to be "Skinner" and the stripes on his sleeve told Zoe that Skinner was a sergeant.

 Her mind done with the observation, it restlessly moved on to review the events that had brought her to this juncture. Looking for the Robot's lost component, being pulled through the mirror, the surprisingly mild questioning by Chalmers, then being transferred onto this jet for further questioning at some place called "Wright-Patterson."

 "It'll be all right," she whispered comfortingly to Will, forcing a smile. "You'll see."

 Cheered up by the reassurance, Will turned back to gazing out the window. The smile on Zoe's face fell away as soon as Will was no longer looking. Despite the Doctor's propensity for saving the day at the last minute, she had to wonder how he was going to rescue them from the other side of the galaxy.

 "Wow!"

 Will's exclamation jolted Zoe out of her reverie. The boy's attention was fixed on the very large and very dangerous looking ship that was pacing the jet. It was long and slender, with a flowing outline.

 It wasn't right. Zoe recognized the incongruency right away. The rest of the technology she had seen dated the time to be somewhere in the mid-to-late twentieth century. This type of ship was decades beyond that, at least, and she didn't recognize the design style at all. It was almost as if the ship were not of human manufacture...but that didn't make sense. Did it?

 Skinner swore. He jumped out of his seat and began heading towards the cockpit. "Major Chalmers!" he called. "We got some kind of bogey alongside!"

 Chalmers stepped out of the cockpit, smoothly closing the door behind him, but not before Zoe caught a glimpse of the interior of the cockpit. She sharply sucked in a breath. Both pilots were slumped over, either unconscious or dead.

 "Yes, thank you, Sergeant," Chalmers replied calmly. "The situation is well within hand. Now return to your post."

 Hesitating only a moment, Skinner snapped a salute and turned around. As soon as Skinner's back was turned, Chalmers brought his right hand out of the pocket he had been hiding it in. The major was holding a syringe of some kind, filled with a thick blue substance. He quickly jabbed the needle into Skinner's neck. The major's thumb pushed the plunger down all the way, completely emptying the syringe's barrel. Skinner gave a start, then fell limply to the floor. Chalmers grabbed the unconscious man's arms and dragged him out of the aisle and into a seat.

 Zoe half-rose out of her chair, uncertain what to do, but feeling she had to do something. Will, previously watching with horror, tried to launch himself at Chalmers in fury. It took all Zoe's strength to hold the impetuous boy back.

 "Oh, don't worry," Chalmers chuckled. "You two have more important things in store for you."

 The jet shuddered. A metallic clang rang out. At the same time, the lights dimmed, then went out.

 "Far more important things," Chalmers repeated. That's when the hatch was blown open and the jet was boarded.

 "Oh dear, oh dear." The Doctor mopped his brow with a ragged paisley handkerchief and then wrung the poor cloth into knots. "That's certainly cutting things a bit close."

 "Everyone, calm down!" West shouted over Dr. Smith's continuing cries of "Oh, the pain! The pain!"

 "Oh, shut up, ye big, blubbering bairn!" Jamie snapped at the near-weeping man. Surprisingly, and to everyone's relief, Dr. Smith did just that. "Oh," Jamie said, looking inordinately pleased. "That's better."

 Just as the Robot began another round of "WARNING!"s, Don jumped in to take control. "Professor," he said, "can you think of anything that might protect us from this acid?

 "Well," Professor Robinson said uncertainly, "it's difficult to say. We don't know the acid's chemical composition, or just what it's reacting to in the ship's hull..." He jumped up from his seat excitedly. A look of inspiration and hope was evident to everyone in the room. "Of course! Robot, that vapor you were covered in, the one that protected you from the acid, do you still have enough to make a complete analysis of its constituents?"

 "THERE ARE ENOUGH TRACES OF THE COMPOUND REMAINING FOR SUCH AN ANALYSIS," the machine replied.

 "Then do so at once," Robinson said tensely.

 The Robot's internal mechanisms whirred and clicked audibly for a few, precious moments. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. It was so quiet it was if one could hear the sizzle of the acid as it worked its way closer through the ship's metal skin.

 "ANALYSIS COMPLETE," it announced.

 "Now," Robinson said carefully, "cross-reference the compound's components with the ship's inventory. Do we have the materials to synthesize our own supply of the compound?"

 More whirring and clicking. This time the minutes seemed to stretch even longer, if possible. Jamie was almost positive he could *smell* the stench of the acid.

 "CROSS-REFERENCING COMPLETE," the Robot said.

 "Well?" Dr. Smith said eagerly, stepping forward. "Do we have the chemicals?"

 The Robot remained silent.

 Professor Robinson sighed heavily. "Answer the question, Robot," he said firmly. "Can we synthesize the compound?"

 "YES."

 Everyone began whooping and hollering. Jamie found himself hugging the Doctor. Professor Robinson sat heavily in his chair as Major West gave him a hearty slap on the back. Even Dr. Smith looked pleased. The Doctor gently disentangled himself from Jamie. His expression was one of grave concern.

 "Robot," the Doctor said softly, brow furrowing and mouth set in a straight line, "how long will it take to make the compound?"

 Despite the low volume of the Doctor's query, everyone stopped immediately. The suddenly jubilant atmosphere reverted to tension. Clicks, whirs, and then a foreboding clunk.

 "APPROXIMATELY FORTY-FIVE MINUTES."

 Through the driving rain Hartford could see the unmarked tractor trailers drive out of the hangar. Each turned out onto the wide throughway that ran through the base. Hartford turned to watch as each of the trucks, one by one, drove into and through the forty feet tall and twenty feet wide mirror at the end of the road.

 In the relative safety beneath the overhang of a nearby building, a figure stood wrapped in a trenchcoat and covered with a fedora pulled low. It didn't respond when another figure joined it beneath the overhang. This newcomer was dressed in army fatigues, dripping wet. The glint of a colonel's leaves were visible on the second figure's collar.

 "Ramling's notes have been fully reviewed," said the colonel.

 "And?" the shadow man asked.

 "Nothing," the colonel replied. "Nothing useful at all. The preliminary work is there, all the basic theories, but the key to making *that* work," he gestured to the giant mirror in the distance, "and the method to construct more, both are missing. Ramling probably took them with him down that rabbit hole of his."

 "Undoubtedly," the shadow man said. "Find him. We have invested much in this exchange. Do not make us...reconsider."

 "I can't tell you what fun this has been," he said over his shoulder to Maureen. "I haven't had a meaningful, thoughtful conversation like this since I put myself in here."

 "Put yourself here?" Maureen asked. Her curiosity was piqued. "I thought you said other people trapped you here?"

 His head bobbed up and down. "That's right, they did."

 "Then how can you put yourself here voluntarily?"

 A giggle escaped his lips. "They made me, silly. How else? I helped them; and then they tried to make sure I couldn't tell anyone else what I did for them. What choice did I have? I had to escape before they could finish driving me insane. It's all their fault that I put myself here." His left hand tightened into a fist.

 "It's all...their...FAULT!" The fist came crashing down on an empty tin can. All that was left was a metal pancake.

 Turning around, he smiled pleasantly at Maureen. "Now, all you have to do is deliver this to the budgerigars -- I'm sorry, the Aanotihf'ew." He shook his head irritably. "I don't know how that keeps happening. Anyway, don't worry; I'm sure they'll be so pleased to get this marvelous invention of mine that they won't notice you have a gender. Hopefully."

 He abruptly tossed the agglomeration of junk at Maureen. Startled, she clumsily caught the thing and stumbled backwards -- right into the mirror that had silently floated up behind her.

 "Professor!" The Doctor's cry shook Robinson out of his introspection.

 "Yes, Doctor? What is it?" the scientist asked. "Have you thought of a solution?"

 "Possibly, possibly." The little man was scurrying from one console to another, checking readings and nearly hopping up and down in impatience. "The Jupiter 2," the Doctor said, "it uses hyperdrive engines, yes?"

 Robinson nodded. "Yes; I helped design them."

 "Splendid!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Now, these engines, am I correct in guessing they work on the standard principle of shunting your ship into hyperspace?"

 "I don't know about standard," the professor answered. "After all, these are experimental models. But, yes, that is the basic idea."

 The Doctor clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "Major West!" he called.

 Don quickly joined the two academics. "Yeah, Doc?"

 "Um, yes, quite," the Doctor said nervously. "I need you to start up the engines."

 "You want me to try and take off in this condition?" West asked in disbelief. "The hull's in -- "

 "No no no!" the Doctor cried in exasperation. "Not the thrusters, the hyperdrive engines."

 Realization dawned on Professor Robinson. "I see what you mean, Doctor! If we run the hyperdrive engines through the standby cycle -- "

 "And leave them ticking over," the Doctor added, "we'll be put slightly out of phase with reality. The acid won't be able to touch us!"

 "As long as we stay on standby, we might have just enough fuel left to pull it off," Don said thoughtfully. A grin slowly began to spread across his face. "Doc, you're a genius!" West clapped the Doctor on the shoulder. "I'll get right on it!" He jumped to the pilot's position and began the hyperdrive's start-up sequence.

 Dr. Smith came over to join them. His suspicions had been aroused by the boisterous conversation. "What's going on?" he asked fearfully. "What are you doing?"

 "We're trying to save everyone!" the Doctor informed him impatiently. "If you've nothing to contribute, kindly step out of the way!"

 "Everyone, get ready!" West announced. "Starting standby in five...four...three...two...and one!" His finger hit the ignition button.

 Whether or not the engines worked, no one was sure, mainly because the ship was rocked by a massive explosion.

 To Be Continued...