“There’s more to life than dodgeball, you know.”

###

“There’s more to life than dodgeball, you know.”

“You’re waxing philosophical today.”

“Hey,” Ben said, “I saw it in a fortune cookie or something.”

Jake picked up a ball and bounced it off the wall.

“It’s just that … it’s discouraging.”

He bounced another ball off the wall.

“I hear you,” Ben said. “Of course it’s discouraging.  That’s what being an teenager is all about, Jakey.  At least, it’s one of the things it’s all about.”

Another ball bounced off the wall, harder.

“And it’s frustrating,” Jake said, sounding angrier.

“What I just said,” Ben said. “Same thing … just insert the word ‘frustrating’.”

“And I know …” Jake wound up to throw again.

Ben’s eyes grew large as saucers, the rubber ball in Jake’s hand having become engulfed in a glowing, multicolored sphere of energy.

Which his disgruntled friend didn’t seem to notice.

“Ummm …” Ben said. “Jake?”

Jake didn’t hear him.

“I know … I’m not … A LOSER!”

He heaved the glowing ball.

And it smashed through the block gymnasium wall like a wrecking ball.

Jake and Ben looked at each other.

“WHOAH!” Jake said. “Did you see … that?”

“I would never call you a loser,” Ben said, eyeing his friend’s handiwork. “Please don’t throw anything at me.”

###

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"Business is about to pick up"

###

“Now listen closely,” The Boss continued.

“We’re listen’in, Boss,” The Rustler said.

“I know we’ve been lying low lately … but business is about to pick up.”

Powder Keg pounded his fist into his hand. “Sounds good to me—now you’re talkin’.”

“And the first order of business is, we have a chance to flatten our largest obstacle.”

“Captain Olympia?” said Ragnar the Red.

“The Machine Ranger?” The Rustler said.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that two obstacles, Boss?” asked Powder Keg.

“Obstacles, then.  It’s the FLATTENING of them … THAT is the important part, you see.  If we can eliminate those two despicable vermin … then we’ll own the city.”

“But Boss,” The Rustler said. “Don’t we already own the city?”

“A fair enough point.  Think of it this way: right now, we hold the city in our hands.  Once we eliminate those two, we’ll own it lock, stock, and barrel … nobody will be able to touch us.  No law enforcement … no nothing.”

“The Boss is right,” Powder Keg said, “that does sound better.”

“You think?” said Ragnar the Red. “Of course it’s better.”

“And once we own the city … we’ll expand throughout the country … and from there … THE WORLD!”

The villains clapped their hands and cheered.

“Thank you,” The Boss said. “You’re too kind.  Now knock that off, and let me tell you how we’re going to do it.”

###

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Trouble South of the Border

###

“Kirk,” Doctor Rhoads said.

“Uh …” MacPherson picked his head up off the couch. “Yeah … I was just …”

“Meditating?”

“Yes, I was meditating … while I was sleeping.”

“Oh, so you were multitasking.”

“Absolutely.” MacPherson grinned. “On the inside.”

Rhoads drove his wheelchair into the room. “Where else would you expect to find inner peace?”

“I don’t know.  Where?”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“So what’s the rhetorical answer?”

Rhoads smiled. “I don’t know.  But thanks for coming down, Kirk.”

“No problem, buddy.  What’s up?”

“I told you I was collecting intel on that soldier … the one who’s stuck in the Mexican jail.”

“Yeah, I remember.  So what did you find out?”

“Answers that lead to more questions, mostly.”

“Yeah,” MacPherson said. “What’s new?”

“Freddie, would you fire-up the presentation, please?”

“It would be my pleasure, Doctor Rhoads.”

A picture of a young man in formal military dress appeared on a large screen on the  wall.

Freddie then began, “This is Corporal Shiloh Steele, U.S. Army Ranger.  Corporal Steel was apprehended by Mexican Federales on the wrong side of the border, with a sidearm on his hip and a rifle on his shoulder.”

“That's bad news,” MacPherson said. “Mexican law is not too friendly to gun-toting tourists.”

“It's definitely frowned upon, sir.”

“Must be his travel agent forgot to tell him to leave his gun collection at home.”

“Something happened,” Rhoads said. “We don't exactly 

know what went down or why—supposedly, they grabbed him alone, and he didn't have a good explanation for what he was doing there.”

“Could it have been … official business?  Government stuff?  Some kind of border operation?”

“Not that anybody will say,” Freddie said. “Nobody knows nothing.”

“Yeah?  What's new?”

“No kidding,” Rhoads said.

“The Corporal,” Freddie continued, “is being held at a prison facility located just over the border.” An aerial map appeared on the screen. “The ‘X’ marks the spot, sir.”

“Ooh … that looks like a nice place to visit … but I wouldn’t want to be detained there.”

“Exactly,” Rhoads said. “And our guy has been there for six months.”

“SIX MONTHS?  Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious.  Which it is.  There have been multiple reports of threats against his life … as if the living conditions in a Mexican jail aren’t bad enough.”

“Is the Embassy involved?  Or the Army?  Heck—where’s the President?”

“AWOL.  Nowhere to be found.”

“I can’t believe everyone would just stand by, while one of our own rots in some foreign hellhole.”

“Neither can I,” Rhoads said. “But it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And that’s a country we own … you’d think all it would take is a phone call from a government bigshot …”

“Agreed.  I guess that speaks to the ineptitude of the powers that be.  Either that, or …”

“Their willful negligence,” Freddie completed his sentence for him.

“Which is why,” Rhoads said, “I’ve started looking so closely into this.  I’m thinking about …”

“Nooo …” MacPherson said. “You’re not …”

“Actually, I am.”

“You’re thinking of breaking him out?”

###

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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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