"There, just over there, see them?" Phileas Fogg said, passing his telescope to Scott Sherwood. "There's one of them ducking into the cave entrance."
Scott pressed the scope to his eye, and quickly tried to focus. He caught sight of a dark-clad figure surreptitiously scurrying into the cave situated across from them. He lowered the telescope, and eased back down onto the rocks. He paused to look out at the Potomac River that sussurated softly nearby. "Their headquarters?" he asked, eyeing the approaching dawn.
Rebecca lowered her own set of binoculars. "Doubtful. More likely just their local hideout. I imagine their headquarters are somewhere on the continent, probably France or England." She tucked her binoculars back into their pouch on her leather form-fitting catsuit. "Are you sure you want to do this, Scott?"
Scott turned from the river, and looked Rebecca straight in the eye. "If it'll keep Betty safe, there is nothing on God's green Earth that'll stop me from going in there."
Rebecca nodded, a sly grin forming on her lips. "I had a feeling you'd say yes."
Phileas picked himself up from the rocks, and began to move forward in a crouch. "This way. Come on." Rebecca and Scott followed, both keeping low.
The sun began to peek over the horizon as Rebecca crept up behind the lone member of the League of Darkness left behind to guard the cave entrance. She tapped the guard on the shoulder, and as the hapless guard turned around, she thwacked him senseless with a hard palm to the base of his jaw. The guard fell to the ground.
Rebecca beckoned for Phileas and Scott to follow her as she made her way into the cave system...
*****
"Jules...it's so beautiful!" Betty Roberts breathed.
Jules Verne turned to face Betty. "It is, isn't it?" he replied, smiling. "I love this time of day. A new day, new possibilities. Always something to look forward to."
The rays of the sun finally broke free from the horizon, and shone golden light onto Betty's face as she stood on the prow of the Aurora. She looked down, watching the trees rush by underneath, as Passepartout piloted the airship above the Maryland countryside.
Even as the light brightened her face, her eyes hinted at a sadness, a fear. "I wish Scott wouldn't be so impulsive, sometimes."
Jules rolled his eyes. Scott again, he thought. I wish we could get back to discussing our mutual craft of writing! "Well," he said aloud, "I'm sure he felt strongly enough about this that he felt he just had to go."
Betty turned from the glorious dawn view. "I know," she said. "I wish I could have gone with them. But, no, Betty Roberts shouldn't be putting herself in danger, oh, no! Better to be safe and secure, flying high in the sky, where no one can touch me. Oh, well. I know Scott means well." She wandered back into the main cabin of the airship, and sat down at the table. She idly picked through some of the papers scattered nearby, and picked one up. "'Around the World in 100 Days'?" she read out loud. "You can't be serious!" she chuckled.
Jules wandered over to her. "I know, it sounds wrong to me, too," he said. "I was thinking maybe 99 days. You know, to make it seem even more fantastic. What do you think? Do you think we could travel around the world in 99 days in the Aurora?"
Passepartout turned from the steering globe. "I do, Master Jules," he said cheerfully. "As a matter of factual, I am thinking I might even be doing it in less days. Maybe even 90!"
Betty laughed. "This is getting out of hand, boys," she said.
Jules turned back to her. "Why? You don't think Passepartout could do it?"
Betty paused to wipe a tear from her eye. "Oh, no, it's not that, it's just...well, I really can't say."
Jules looked confused, then nodded as he understood. "Yes. The time factor again. I guess we shouldn't talk about this any more, should we?"
Betty giggled again. "Oh, goodness!" She tried to catch her breath. "I can't seem to stop laughing," she said between breaths.
"It's the rarefied air," Jules explained. "The atmosphere is thinner at this altitude, and your lungs aren't getting enough air to keep things flowing like they normally would be. You'll get used to it."
"Yes," Passepartout chimed in. "Looking at me, for instance. You would not be saying that I am affected by the thinnening of the airs, would you?"
Betty looked at the silly grin plastered on Passepartout's face, and burst out laughing again.
*****
Rebecca crouched low, keeping to one side of the small tunnel cut into the rock. Scott followed close behind, with Phileas bringing up the rear. Scott, also crouching, couldn't help but notice how tight and form-fitting Rebecca's leather catsuit was, and how it clung to Rebecca's curves. He smiled, turned to Phileas, and waggled his eyebrows, nodding his head in the direction of Rebecca.
Phileas thwacked Scott with the backside of his hand, hissing, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Sherwood. Keep your mind on the task at hand!"
Scott grinned sheepishly, and turned to follow Rebecca. Unfortunately, Rebecca had already stopped, and Scott bumped into her. "Sorry," he whispered. Rebecca shushed him with her hands, and the little group crouched down even further.
"What is it?" Phileas whispered from the rear of the group. He moved a bit closer, peeking over Scott and Rebecca.
"I think we've found what we're looking for," Rebecca said softly.
Spread out before them was a large chamber, filled with clanking machines and hissing devices of steam-power. In the center, directing his black-clad minions, was the leader of the League of Darkness. Seated, if one could call someone who was in several separate pieces, in his special chair, barking out commands in his gruff voice, was Count Gregory.
Torn apart by the Turks in the 13th century, and managing to survive by his own will and ingenious devices, Count Gregory had formed the League of Darkness to bring his special brand of chaos to the world. Foiled on several occasions by Jules Verne and the Foggs, Count Gregory was once more attempting to conquer the world.
"Count Gregory," Phileas hissed. "Doesn't this fellow ever stay dead?"
"Sounds like a couple of sponsors I could mention," Scott grumbled.
"Will you pipe down, Sherwood?" Phileas said, nudging Scott slightly. Scott, caught off balance, stumbled forward, tripping over Rebecca's leg. Scott went sprawling to the floor just inside the entrance to the main chamber. All activity in the chamber stopped, as Count Gregory and his minions paused, and turned to look at the intruder.
Scott pushed himself up off the floor, to see himself surrounded by members of the League of Darkness. "Um...hi there!" Rebecca and Phileas were pushed forward by more guards, and were made to stand on either side of Scott.
Count Gregory moved his large, cumbersome chair closer to the three intruders. "So..." he said, his voice rumbling throughout the cavernous chamber. "Once again I have the pleasure of seeing the lovely Rebecca Fogg. And the joy of seeing Phileas Fogg. However, I don't think the other gentleman and I are acquainted." His chair rolled to a stop in front of Scott. "And who might you be?" Count Gregory asked silkily.
"Scott Sherwood, and you are?"
"Surely these two have told you about me?" Count Gregory replied, looking in turn at Phileas and Rebecca. "No? I am disappointed in you, Rebecca, Phileas. I was sure you'd tell the whole world about Count Gregory and my 'evil' ways."
Rebecca laughed a sharp laugh. "Why bother? All you are is a simple nuisance, not a force to be reckoned with."
"Oh, well said, Rebecca," Phileas said, grinning at Rebecca.
"Thank you, Phileas, best I could manage at such short notice."
"SILENCE!" Count Gregory roared.
"If I don't know who you are, can I go?" Scott asked in the silence that followed Count Gregory's bellowed command.
The Count rolled his chair even closer to Scott in response. "No, my dear Mister Sherwood, you may not. In fact, I think you'll be the first candidate for my new interrogation machine."
"Somehow, I don't like the sound of that," Scott said.
"Most people don't," Count Gregory said, as he rolled back away from Scott, and moved over to another part of the chamber. A guard stood next to a dark metal slab, which featured several metal straps, and a few rough leather belts as well. The guard opened the straps and belts.
Two guards came out of the darkness from the sides of the chamber, and took Scott's arms.
"This new interrogation device will not be pleasant for you," the Count said. "However, it has not been designed for comfort. Quite the opposite, in fact. Any attempt to lie, and the machine will detect it, using the patterns of your brain to determine truth or falsehood. So I suggest you drop any pretense that you might lie your way out of the situation, Mister Sherwood. I intend to find out where you have come from, and how you have managed to travel in time."
Count Gregory turned to yet another guard, this one standing next to a gigantic piece of equipment. "Switch on the power," the Count instructed. The guard nodded mindlessly, turned to the large machine, and threw a lever. Sparks jumped from the lever, and more sparks and lightning jumped from other places around the large electric machine. The sparks jumped and danced, and made their way along some wires to the metal slab, to which Scott Sherwood was being led.
"Uh, Rebecca? Phileas?" Scott said, nervously. "Remember how you were telling me how you used to kick these's guys butts all the time? Now would be a great time to prove that."
Rebecca and Phileas turned to each other. "Very well, if you insist," Phileas said calmly. He struck out violently, and caught his guard in the throat with a vicious right-handed chop. Rebecca grabbed her own guard's arm, spun him about, and hurled him to the ground. Phileas dashed over to Scott, kicking one guard away, and throwing his arm around the throat of the other. Scott tumbled to the ground.
Count Gregory's eyes widened as he took all this in. He began to tremble with rage, and suddenly cried out, "Fusion power!!" The electricity from the nearby machine began arcing towards his chair, and lighting leapt from his separated limbs. The limbs began to move back towards Count Gregory's torso, attaching themselves to it, as did the Count's head. Suddenly whole once again, Count Gregory stood up slowly from his chair. He began to move towards Phileas.
Rebecca, meanwhile, had produced a small device from one of the pockets on her catsuit. Twisting a dial on the surface of the device, she threw it up and onto the top of the giant, sparking electric machine. "Come on, Phileas, Scott, we've got seconds to get out of here!" she yelled.
Phileas, throwing aside the guard with the broken neck, helped Scott to his feet. They looked up to see Count Gregory lumbering towards them. As one, Phileas and Scott thrust out their legs and kicked with all their might, sending the Count reeling backwards and into the sparking machine. As the Count's metal-suited body made contact with the electricity machine, his eyes widened, and he began to shake and shake and shake. Suddenly, he stopped, and fell forward, face-first onto the floor.
Phileas and Scott paused just long enough to make sure the Count wasn't about to get up, then they dashed towards the tunnel in pursuit of the already-fleeing Rebecca.
As they made their hurried way down the narrow tunnel towards freedom, Phileas and Scott caught up with Rebecca. Phileas shouted to Rebecca over the noise of the explosions and chaos behind them. "Nice work back there, Rebecca."
"Thank you, Phileas," Rebecca grinned as she ran. "All in a day's work for an agent of the British Secret Service."
Scott, lagging a bit behind, was running short of breath. He paused, attempting to catch his breath. Suddenly, he found he couldn't breathe at all. Mainly because a metal-gloved hand was clamped over his nose and mouth. He found himself being dragged off into a side tunnel, just as a huge fireball rushed past them down the main tunnel.
"I've decided to move the interrogation to somewhere a bit more secure," Count Gregory wheezed into Scott's ear, as the Count dragged the struggling Scott down the side tunnel...
Where the Air is Rarified
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