The Bare Metal Muscle Car

###

She checked the time, then looked back at Ben and Jake. “Are you sure Doctor Rhoads said to wait for him?”

“Yeah Halley.  He said he had something to show us … and was going to pick us up after school.”

“But he did say today, right Ben?”

“Yeah, he said today.”

“You know how Doctor Rhoads is,” Jake said. “The guy’s always going a million miles per hour with his work …”

“Right,” Ben said, “he probably just lost track of time.  That’s exactly the same way I’d be if I focused on my work.”

Jake smiled. “Yeah—me too.”

Halley rolled her eyes. “As if.”

A loud engine raced in the distance.

“Whew,” Jake said, “sounds like somebody needs a new muffler.”

“Sounds kinda like a race car,” Ben said. “Those don’t have mufflers, Jakey.”

Halley shook her head. “I think that’s so obnoxious … little boys and their stupid toys.  Probably some tire spinning juvenile delinquent.”

“Now,” Ben began, “in defense of juvenile delinquents …”

“So you’re defending yourself now?  That’s cute.  You better get a lawyer, Ben.”

“That’s how you express your love for me?  By insulting my lawyering abilities?”

“Hey you guys,” Jake said, pointing out into the street.

A silvery classic muscle car rumbled into view.

“That’s probably the car, right?”

“It sounds like the car,” Ben said.

“Why,” Halley asked, “doesn’t it have any paint?”

“Not impressed?”

“Not particularly.”

“Hmmm … that is bare metal.  Maybe they’re saving up for a cool paint job.”

“If you ask me,” Jake said, “I think it looks pretty cool like it is.”

The auto wheeled into the school parking lot, as if it heard him.

“Huh … it’s coming this way.”

As the teens watched, the car threaded its way through the busy high school parking lot, occasionally revving its racy engine, and garnering plenty of stares.

“Great,” Halley said, “I wonder what this loser wants.”

The car pulled up to the curb, and stopped right in front of them.

“Looks like,” Ben said, “we’re gonna to find out.”

They could see their reflections in the windows’ mirrored amber tint.

“You think that window tint is legal?”

“I have no idea,” Jake said.

The passenger side window rolled down.

“Hey guys.”

A familiar face leaned over to the window.

“Doctor Rhoads?”

###

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“How’d you like a broken nose?”

###

“I’ll call YOU … Red. What do ya got?”

Ragnar the Red, the Viking villain, laid his cards on the table, face up. “You wanted to know, Rustler … so now you know.”

“Yep,” The Rustler sighed. “I wanted to know, alright.”

“And unless your luck,” the Viking said, “changed all of a sudden, the spoils of this war now belong to me.” He reached out over the table, poised to rake in the pile of cash at its center.

“Now you wait just a minute, Ragnar. How do you know my luck didn’t change?”

“Rustler, we all know you’re a fighter—not a card shark.”

“Yeah,” said the third man at the table, clearly amused. “Most of the time, you can’t even card swim, Rustler. Definitely not a card shark. A boat anchor is more like it.”

The black-hearted cowboy slammed his fist down on the table. “WHAT did you say, Keg? Why don’t you say it AGAIN.”

“What did I say?” asked Powder Keg in his imitable Brooklyn accent. “All I said, was―”

“I wouldn’t say it,” cautioned Ragnar the Red. “The Rustler can be very … ornery … when he’s about to lose.”

“ABOUT TO LOSE?” The Rustler was indignant. “I’ll show you fools ABOUT TO LOSE.”

He stood up and threw the table over in one swift motion.

Ragnar and Powder Keg jumped to their feet, the Viking striking the table with his war hammer while it was still in the air, shattering the flying furniture upon impact.

The Rustler’s hands were thrust under his long black duster coat, while playing cards and smashed glasses littered the floor wet with whatever the villains had been imbibing.

Powder Keg’s fists were up in a fighting posture. “Hey—you got a problem, cowboy?”

“Maybe I do.”

“How’d you like to settle it, then?”

“Maybe I would.”

“How’d you like a broken nose?”

“HA HA HA!” The Rustler rolled into a great belly laugh.

“Wha—what’s so freakin’ funny?”

“You idiot,” Ragnar said. “The Rustler’s not going to fight you. The Rustler’s going to shoot you.”

Powder Keg looked into the The Rustler’s evil eyes, those dark portals and his wicked grin confirming that Ragnar the Red was right.

The greaser scanned the room for something he could explode.

###

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“Well,” Machine Ranger said, “that certainly was a colorful articulation.”

###

“Ahem,” Freddie said over the Ranger’s communication link. “Machine Ranger?”

“Yes, Freddie?”

“I though it might be an opportune time to mention something, sir.”

“Okay.”

“Not that I was listening in on your conversation or anything.”

“Of course not,” Machine Ranger said. He turned to Jake and nodded his head ‘yes’ to Freddie’s eavesdropping proclivities. “What have you got?” he said into his link.

“A little astrophysical programming,” Freddie replied, “and access to the Internet.”

“Great, Freddie. So …”

“I happen to have a little information on the subject of solar flares.”

“You do?” The Ranger looked at Jake. “That’s handy.”

Jake shrugged. “Just don’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”

“No kidding … we’re always telling him that. He’s especially bad with the gossip sites.”

“Machine Ranger,” Freddie said, “shall I proceed?”

“Geez … so serious all of a sudden. Yes, please proceed, Freddie. But give us the CliffsNotes version … don’t read us the entire book, okay?”

Jake grinned.

“Certainly,” Freddie said. “A solar flare is a sudden burst of energy released from the surface of the sun.”

“We knew that,” Machine Ranger said. “Didn’t we, Jake?”

“Yeah, I had to do a report on them last year. And when another star besides the Sun has one, it’s called a stellar flare.”

“Hear that, Freddie? And he, with no internet access.”

“Only old-school programming,” Jake said, with a light knock to the top of his head.

“Did that sound hollow to anyone else?” the Ranger said.

“Very good, Jake,” Freddie said. “Not bad at all for just gray matter … and teenaged gray matter at that.”

“Thanks … I think.”

Machine Ranger looked at him. “That was supposed to be a compliment … I think.”

“And a solar flare,” Freddie continued, “looks like a big zit popping on the face of the sun.”

The people exchanged a glance.

“Well,” Machine Ranger said, “that certainly was a colorful articulation.”

“Ewww,” Jake said.

“Thank you,” Freddie said.

“Do we know how much energy they release?” the Ranger said.

“Popping zits?” Freddie said.

“Ewww,” Jake said.

“No, Freddie—solar flares.”

“A lot of energy,” Freddie said. “As much as … equal to One Hundred Sixty Billion megatons of TNT.”

“Whew,” the Ranger said. “That’s quite a pop.”

###

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"The entire world is going to be on top of you in a matter of minutes.”

###

The helicopter touched down softly in a storm of dust, debris, and the smoke that was still rising from the freshly demolished power chamber.

The pilot cut the engine, removed his headset, and disembarked the craft.

Captain Olympia, seated nearby on a chunk of concrete, waited and watched the tall, dark-haired man approach.

“Captain Olympia, isn’t it?” the man said once he got close enough.

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m Spartucus Finch. Editor of The Supercity Gazette. We’ve met.”

“You could have left your copter running … you won’t be staying long.”

Finch chuckled. “I guess public relations isn’t your strong suit.”

“I guess not trespassing isn’t your strong suit.”

“You know, I’m sensing that you don’t really want to talk to me.”

“So you have some sense.”

“But you should want to talk to me.”

“Why?”

“And let me tell you why.”

“Okay …”

“Because whatever happened here … the entire world is going to be on top of you in a matter of minutes.”

“Yeah?”

“And I have a feeling you don’t want that. Neither of us wants that.”

“You don’t want that?”

“Of course not. Neither of us wants the whole world crawling over this place.”

“We don’t? I mean, you don’t?”

“No. You’re much better off … just telling me your story—the story you want to get out. Whatever I print, everyone else will go along with. They’d rather not have to do their own work anyway.”

“That actually sounds pretty good.”

“And I … get the exclusive.”

###

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"the social networks are all atwitter"

###

“As I was saying, the social networks are all atwitter with rumors of a mysterious industrial accident at the MacPherson Labs complex, and the news channels are picking it up as breaking news.”

“I guess that’s to be expected,” the Olympian said. “That’s what they do.”

“Police and fire?” Machine Ranger asked.

“Emergency vehicles are incoming,” Freddie said.

“How much time?”

“A couple minutes, tops.”

“Can you tie them up?”

“I’ve already shut down traffic signals and jammed traffic—and that is the only reason you have a couple minutes.”

“Great job Freddie,” Captain Olympia said. “Anything else you can think of …”

“Do it,” the Ranger finished his sentence.

“Absolutely,” Freddie said. “Will do. And there is … just one more thing.”

“Yeah?” Machine Ranger sounded impatient. “What’s that, Freddie?”

“A number of aircraft have breached our airspace outer perimeter.”

“But you scared them all off before they got too close?”

“That’s affirmative. We threatened violence, and they turned away.”

“That’s good news,” Captain Olympia said.

“All except for one.”

“That’s bad news.”

“One’s still incoming?” the Ranger said. “Did you scramble drones?”

“Yes sir. Our drones have the bogey surrounded. Would you like to shoot it down?”

“Any markings on the aircraft, Freddie?” Captain Olympia said.

“Yes sir, the craft is a helicopter … with tail numbers and insignia indicating … The Supercity Gazette.”

The Olympian groaned.

“Spartucus Finch,” Machine Ranger said. “Okay Freddie … shoot it down.”

“Sir? Are you sure?”

“Of course he’s kidding,” Captain Olympia said, shaking his head at his compatriot. “At least, I hope he is.”

The Ranger shrugged.

###

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