"Last one there is a flying turd"

###

“Mister MacPherson.”

“Yeah? MacPherson, here.”

“It’s Freddie, sir.”

“I thought it was. What can I do for you, Fredrico?”

“Sir, Doctor Rhoads has signaled me that he’s in trouble.”

“Where the heck is he?”

“He had a date tonight …”

“That’s right―I remember. The cute schoolteacher. So, what―you think they’re not getting along, or something?”

“I doubt he’d need his battle chassis to resolve that kind of crisis, sir.”

“You’re probably right about that, Fred.”

“And he did call for his equipment.”

“Roger that. You got a bird in the air?”

“The drone is en route, with battle-chassis; estimated time of arrival is one minute, ten seconds.”

“Good. You know where the place is?”

“I’m transmitting the coordinates to you now, Mister MacPherson.”

“Gottem’. Okay, I’m on my way. You tell the drone—the last one there is a flying turd.”

“Yes sir … I’ll inform it.”

MacPherson opened the door of the moving limousine, and was greeted by the rush of nighttime air. He smiled as he breathed it in. “Time to get that workout in.”

###

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“Cool,” Rhoads said. “I’ve never had anyone say that to me before.”

###

“Alexa!” The familiar, faint voice in her head stopped her cold.

She snapped around, and peered out past the restaurant reflections in the expansive plate glass window. The street scene portended no especial concern or danger.

“Alexa!”

Rhoads watched her a minute before he spoke. “Ms. Jensen? Alexa?”

She jumped in her seat and turned back to him. “WHAT?”

“Sorry—did I startle you?”

“No, I … I guess I just feel a little nauseous, all of a sudden.”

“Wow, the food must be really nasty here; you haven’t even tasted it yet, and already it’s taking you down.”

“Alexa!”

Her eyes darted back to the window.

“Um … is something out there, Alexa?” He joined her in staring out the window. “I don’t see anything.”

“No, it’s just that …”

“Madame,” the waiter interrupted them, “and sir. Your dinner is served.”

“Cool,” Rhoads said. “I’ve never had anyone say that to me before.”

Another man, in a white chef’s hat and uniform, placed a silver covered platter in front of Ms. Jensen, and then another in front of the doctor.

“Cool,” the waiter mocked him. “I guess we won’t be able to say that again, will we?” He noticed Ms. Jensen staring out the window. “Madame, is there a smudge on the glass? If there is, I’m terribly sorry.” He turned to the chef. “I told you cretins—my tables must be impeccable, my windows must be impeccable …”

“Alexa,” Rhoads said, “you don’t look so good.”

She gave him a troubled look.

“I mean, you don’t look well … of course, you still look good.”

“Alexa!” the voice in her head called to her.

“… and the place settings must be impeccable …” the waiter continued to lecture the chef.

“Would you like to go?” the doctor said to her.

“Yes, I’d like to … we should go now, Andy.” She began to gather her things.

“ALEXA!”

Suddenly, she froze. “No, it’s too late. We can’t go. I’m sorry, Andy.”

“… and the seating must be impeccable … EVERYTHING MUST BE IMPECCABLE!”

The window imploded into the restaurant, nearly disintegrating from power of the blow that had struck it. Tiny glass fragments filled the air, and then covered everything.

###

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Whew! The Ninjutsu was flowing like crazy!

###

“Why are you guys being so secretive?” Halley said. “Since when don’t you take my calls, Ben?  You’re not breaking up with me, are you?”

“Breaking up?” Jake said. “Since when are you guys stuck together?”

She and Ben shared a knowing glance.

“Oh,” Jake said. “That’s how it is.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, with a goofy smile. “Pretty much, Jakey.”

“Not that that’s good enough,” Halley said, “to be told what you guys were doing last night.”

“You wouldn’t be interested at all,” Jake said. “Trust me.”

“I would—if I did.”

“Your girlfriend’s funny, Benji.”

She stuck her funny tongue out at him.

“Hey guys,” Sargent said as he sat down with them.

“Geez, Sargent,” Ben said. “You totally snuck up on us—you been taking Ninja lessons?”

“Nah.” He stuffed a cake into his mouth. “I’m a natural Ninja.”

“I noticed that,” Jake said, “when we were getting beat up by those jerks that time. Whew! The Ninjutsu was flowing like crazy!”

Halley laughed.

“Yeah,” Ben continued, “it looked like you guys were really cleaning house, before we got Ms. Jensen to break up the fight.”

“That was the technique,” Sargent said. “After I got done tiring them out, it was going to be butt-kicking time; I’m serious.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear,” Halley said, “because a few of them are coming up behind you right now, and they look like they’re ready to tear your …”

Sargent spun around and almost fell out of his seat.

“… head off.”

###

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“The cockiness,” the Ranger said, “is something he picked up on his own.”

###

“Doctor,” Freddie said over the Machine Ranger’s communication link. “I’ve got surprise for you.”

There was a whirring noise overhead.

“Hey, another plane!” Ben said.

“Another drone!” Captain Olympia said.

“I streamlined some of the manufacturing processes,” Freddie said. “So behold … drone prototype number two … delivered in record time.”

“Freddie!” Machine Ranger said. “It’s beautiful! And you’re amazing—there’s nothing artificial about your intelligence!”

“Thank you Doctor, but on the contrary … I’m sure I couldn’t have done it without my superior electronic brain. If I had actual gray matter … I shudder to think.”

“You’re modest as always, Frederick.”

“Geez,” Captain Olympia said to Machine Ranger, “did you have to program him to be so cocky?”

“The cockiness,” the Ranger said, “is something he picked up on his own.” “Freddie—we’re kind of tied-up here. Think you can help us out?”

“Help you out? Will a laser melt metal?”

“Uhhh …” Captain Olympia said, “that’s a yes—right Freddie?”

###

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“Freeze, Machine Ranger. At this range, I can’t miss.”

“Rustler, you found me.” Machine Ranger put his hands up. “One thing, though—I thought you could miss from any range.”

“Why … you … no good … steel for brains … I oughta’ …”

The wind was starting to blow.

“Sorry pardner,” the Ranger said. “That sounded like beginnings of a mighty fine monologue, but …”

“But what?”

“But, do you feel that breeze?”

“Yeah? What about it?”

The Rustler’s black hat blew off.

Machine Ranger waved at him. “Bye bye, cowboy.”

The spiral wind of the Tornado Charge overtook them both, sucking them up like ants into a vacuum cleaner.

The Ranger shot a harpoon into the side of a building, to keep from being blown away.

###

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"They call me Powder Keg—alright?"

Powder Keg jumped up from behind the wall. “Hey there!”

“What the …” Machine Ranger said. “You’re not The Rustler … or Ragnar the Red.”

“Look who’s eyes are workin’ … congratulations on that, Machine Loser. Hey, I’m the new guy … an’ they call me Powder Keg—alright?”

“Well,” the Ranger said, his arm cannons sighted on the newcomer, who looked the part of a 1950’s street corner hood, “you were almost the Confetti Guy. As in, these guns were about to―”

“Blow me to bits? Whew! I’m sure glad that didn’t happen.”

“Didn’t happen yet, you mean. You with those other two, junior? The Viking … and the Cowgirl?”

“That depends!” The Rustler piped up from where he was crouched behind the wall.

“Yes!” added Ragnar the Red. “That depends very much on what happens next.”

“I’ll take the bait,” Machine Ranger said. “What happens next?”

“Some fireworks,” Powder Keg said. “Hmmm …”

He pointed at an automobile that was in a long line of them parked along the debris-strewn street.

“You know, I’m not so sure these cars are legally parked.” 

His eyes glowed red.

“Someone’s gonna have to move them.”

The car exploded in a fireball, and launched up into the air.  Then it smashed back into the Earth, a burning, smoldering heap.

“Consider me the valet!” He laughed in wicked delight. “A nice full gas tank, thank you very much.”

Then, he pointed at a pickup truck, and it met with the same fiery fate.

“I’m glad to see everyone’s not driving around on empty; running out is no joke.”

Machine Ranger, noticing how close he was standing to another parked car, took a few cautious steps away from it.

###

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“We’re pinned down!” The Rustler hissed. “We gotta get outta this!”

Ragnar the Red popped his head up and 

ducked right back down, a shot from 

Machine Ranger’s rotary cannons just 

zinging off his Viking helmet. “He’s 

coming for us! I’ll rush him!”

“No! Just hold yer horses, Red.”

The cowboy stole his own peek, and was

also forced back down by a hail of gunfire.

“New kid … Powder Keg … you’re up. You’re here for a tryout; you did 

a real good job blowing up the bank―but how do you handle

yourself in a fight, boy?”

“Actually, I handle myself pretty good in a fight.” He stood 

the collar up on his black leather jacket, then ran his 

fingers through his greaser pompadour.

“You do?” Ragnar chuckled. “Good. Because I hear the 

Machine Ranger can handle himself, too. Well … have at 

him.”

“Just watch out for his guns,” The Rustler said. “All of his 

guns.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Powder Keg said, his accent thick 

with Brooklyn. “I’ll follow it if you can, alright?”

“Danged kids these days,” The Rustler said. “Everybody’s a 

wise-acre.”

“Indeed,” the Viking agreed. “Everybody is.”

###

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