2.Ø3
Argust 15, 2124, 4:23pm
Thud smiled at his prize fish, “Gotcha, Professor! Now where shall I put you?”
“Dccchhnnn...plzzzz...,” Muddle choked as his collar cut into his throat.
“Oh, of course!” The thunder god released Muddle and the professor crumpled to the floor.
Concerned by Muddle’s lassitude, Thud tried to deliver a bracing whack on the professor's back. However, Muddle saw the brute coming and skittered out of range. “Forggcchet it, Thud,” Muddle rasped, “I’m fine. Juccht fine.” When his windpipe eventually snapped back into shape, Muddle struggled into his chair and urged Thud to sit in the furthest corner of his office, “I think you’ll find...hack-ack...that’s the most comfortable... hack-ack...seat I have…”
“Thanks anyway, professor...” Thud demurred, “...but none of your chairs are equal to the challenge. If you don’t mind...” Just as he had done in the hallway, Thud stretched out horizontally, “...this is the safest way for me to repose in a dollhouse.”
Muddle raised an eyebrow, but elected not to comment, “...so, Thud…what can I d-…?”
“Hold it right there, professor…” Thud cut in, “I’ll wager you are wondering why I’m here. Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah, okay.” Muddle bobbed his head, “You are the first Nordic god who has ever dropped in on my office hours. I can't wait to learn what would occasion a visit from someone of your eminence.”
“HA-HA!!” Thud chuckled, “That is kind of you to say, professor. However, the honor is entirely mine.” Feeling duty-bound to reciprocate, Thud placed a hand over his heart and pronounced, “And you, Professor Muddle, are the first teacher with whom I have ever discussed anything but lost homework.”
Muddle smiled. The oversized puppy was difficult to dislike. Duplicating the god’s good cheer, Muddle invited, “Okay, Thud. Enlighten me...” The professor steepled his fingers, “...how can I be of assistance?”
“Ah!” The god tapped his nose, “Time for brass tracks, eh, professor?” Thud unsnapped the thigh pocket of his cargo pants and produced a travel-weary envelope. Holding the crinkled missive between thumb and forefinger, Thud presented it to Muddle.
The plot thickens!
Muddle’s expression remained blasé, but his heart pounded. Hoping that the message would shed more light on Thud’s unusual visit, Muddle accepted the envelope. But, before he even resettled in his chair, Muddle frowned and tried to return the letter, “Sorry, big guy, but you’ve delivered this to the wrong person. This letter is addressed to…” Muddle stifled a snicker, “...Dr. Stephen Strangelove.”
“No, professor!” Thud drew back as if the letter was made of rotten fish, “That letter is yours to keep.”
“Hmm...” Muddle tried to trick the thunder god into reclaiming the envelope, “...okay, Thud, but I just noticed my shoelace is untied. Would you mind holding the envelope until I re-tie it?”
“I am sorry professor…” Thud wagged a finger, “...but my supersister, the Black Window, cautioned me against that very ploy.” The god shook his head, “Nothing you can say will convince me to reclaim that letter. I’m sorry.”
Muddle gazed at the envelope. “Well…” He fussed, “...what am I supposed to do with it?”
“I beg you, professor.” Thud exhorted, “Read the letter. Though I cannot join your adventure, I am here to help you make the best possible start.”
Muddle’s eyes flitted between Thud and the missive. Though worse for wear, the envelope was made of a lustrous paper that added a certain gravitas to the dispatch. The professor shot one final glance at Thud and then reached for his letter opener. After slicing open the envelope, Muddle drew out a card that felt more like balsa wood than paper. The card’s outer face was devoid of markings.
When he opened it, Muddle was surprised to find nothing but splotches of ink. Not knowing what else to do, Muddle touched one of the ink spots and then, before his very eyes, the ink began to swirl and dance.
Watching the ink cavort, Thud advised, “Do not be alarmed, professor. The sender thought it best to encrypt the message.”
Muddle peered at Thud, “Encrypt?”
Thud nodded, “Give it a blippet.”
No sooner had Thud spoken than the ink began to resolve into a flowery script, “Ah…” Muddle settled a pair of reading glasses on his nose, “...here we go.”
Thud gazed warmly at the text as if at an old friend. “It is a remarkable form of encryption. No one has ever cracked the code because retrolactic splatter only decrypts when the person who is responsible for the mess tries to clean it up.”
If anything, Thud’s explanation only confused Muddle more. Setting aside the enigma of spilled milk encryption, the professor focused on the card’s now-legible message:
Dear Dr. Strangelove,
Universes are colliding. There is a great disturbance in the Farce. Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it. And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost.
I hereby summon you to the Council of Ozland. The Council will take place this evening at the Crossroads of Humanity...
Muddle gawked at Thud, “Council of Ozland? Crossroads of Humanity? What is this?”
Thud shook his head, “Please read the entire message, professor.”
Seeing little alternative, Muddle huffed and then resumed reading:
...We believe that you hold the key to resolving this cosmic crisis. I implore you to attend tonight’s Council. We must act swiftly, or all will be lost!
Sincerely,
Lady Galahadriel & Co.
Muddle re-read the message and then looked Thud square in the eye, “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, professor! It is no joke.” Thud replied, “I should have thought Uranus Blowhard’s untimely arrival would have made that obvious.”
“What?” Muddle gasped, “You mean, this has something to do with Blowhard?”
“Oh, dash it…!” Thud groaned, “...they told me not to divulge that. I am such a dunderhead!” He cracked a meaty fist against his skull.
“Easy, big fella!” Muddle winced at the knuckle marks on Thud’s forehead, “Just forget it. Okay? I won’t, uhh....Hmm… Hang on a sekk...”
Silence.
Muddle reflected on the circumstances surrounding Thud’s visit and suddenly experienced an “Aha! moment.” His eyes flew wide, “Now I get it! The ‘they’ you just referred to is the Scavengers, isn’t it?”
Thud turned a whiter shade of pale, “...uh...I...uhhh....”
Muddle was too caught up in his excitement to register Thud’s woe, “What a great idea! The Scavengers are going swoop in and save the day! Oh, what a relief!!”
Muddle soon noticed that the Thunder god’s complexion had morphed from rosy to green. “Hey, Thud.” Muddle prodded, “What’s up? You look like there's been a death in the family.”
Thud winced when Muddle raised the issue of family mortality. Stiffening his upper lip, Thud blubbered, “Sniff-sniff. It is ironic that you should mention deaths in the family, professor, because…” Thud’s voice cracked, “...because…”
“Oh, no…!” Muddle clapped a hand over his mouth, “I’m so sorry, Thud. Is...it your brother? What’s his name...Loogi? Has he pretended to die again?”
“Would that it were so, professor.” Thud sobbed, “Unfortunately, Loogi is in perfect health. No…” The hulking Norge clambered into a sitting position and produced a god-sized pocket tissue, “...death has not claimed any single member of my family. Rather, death has robbed me of my entire superfamily. The Scavengers are…” Thud trailed off, “...no more…”
“What?” Muddle flew out of his chair, “Nooo!! The Scavengers can’t have disbanded! They’re the earth’s most profitable heroes, aren’t they? I thought the Scavengers had sworn to combat evil to eternity and beyond!!”
“Bah!” Thud flipped his hand, “That’s all a PR smokescreen. The truth is we can’t stand each other.” The god’s voice gnarled with wrath, “And the Iron Maiden is worst of a bad bunch!” He mocked, “‘Ooooh, look at me. I’m rich. I’m good looking. I can count to a thousand…’ Aaarrgghh!” Thud pounded an imaginary Iron Maiden into the dirt.
Muddle refused to give up, “C’mon Thud. Couldn’t you reunite long enough to kick Blowhard’s butt and then go back to hating each other?”
“No!” Thud growled, “It can’t be done. I’ve tried, but it’s no use. The Scavengers will not answer the call. Not this time.” Wistfully, he added, “Perhaps...nevermore…”
“So...” Muddle clutched two handfuls of hair, “...the Scavengers refuse to battle an intergalactic tyrant, and I’m the next card in your rolodex?”
Thud’s brow furrowed, “What’s a rolodex?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Muddle flopped face first across his desk. Without lifting his mouth from the desktop, he garbled, “My point is that I have nothing—and I mean NOTHING!!—to offer in the fight against Uranus Blowhard. Why come to me?”
“Actually, professor...” Thud parried, “...that is not true. Remember what Lady G said, You…” Thud rumbled his voice, “...hold the key!”
“The key?” Muddle kept his face mushed on his desk, “What key? I don’t have any key.”
“But that’s where you’re wrong, professor…” Thud ransacked his memory. As he did so, waves of heat radiated from the god’s overtaxed brain until... “Ah, yes! The Black Window said the ‘key’ is something you wrote.”
“What...?” Muddle perked up, “Something...I...wrote, you say? Wow. Did the Black Window say anything...else…?”
“Hmmmm…” Thud summoned every watt of brain power in his cranium, “...the Black Window said something about...a…a hyperbolic nativity,” Thud shrugged, “...but it didn’t make sense, so I didn't mention it…” .
“Hyperbolic nativity...?” Muddle’s heart thumped. Could it be?!? Smelling a rat Muddle scanned the room for hidden cameras. Seeing nothing untoward Muddle waded in ever so gently, “Sooo, Thud...do you think the Black Window might have said something like ‘historical transitivity?’”
“Hysterical transistery? Hmmm…” Thud stroked his chin, "Noooo...I don’t think so...”
“Transitivity, you...er... great guy...!” Muddle barely bit off the insult in time. He took a deep breath before trusting his voice again, “Admittedly, transitivity doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue…”
“No! It doesn’t, but...” the thunder god hedged, “...it’s not the sort of word you’d easily forget, is it?”
“No…” Muddle’s voice cracked, “...no, it isn’t”
“Well, that settles it!” Thud boomed, “Now that you mention it, I clearly recall that the Black Window subscribes to your theory of horizontal relativity. If…” Thud deferred to Muddle, “...that means anything to you, professor.”
“Oh, yes…” Muddle sniffled, “Yes, it does.” With that, Muddle rose to his feet and pronounced, “After giving the matter all due consideration, I have decided to attend tonight’s Council of Ozland.”
“Hooray!!” Thud whooped, “You have no idea how happy that makes me, professor.”
Strutting around like he had just won the Monaco Grand Prix, Muddle beamed at Thud, “So, where is this Crossroads of Humanity, anyway?”
“Ah, how could I forget?” Thud rattled the loose screws in his head, “The Crossroads of Humanity, my dear professor.." He swung a hand skyward, "... is located on the moon.”
Muddle choked, “On the moon!!!”
“Indeed.” Thud chucked Muddle playfully on the chin, “And the best part is that I have personally arranged your transportation...”
Meanwhile...
Back in the Oval Office, there was a knock on the door.
Blowhard sang out, “En-Tahhh!!”
The geeky plumber poked his head through the door, “You called, sir?”
“Da.” Lutin beckoned, “Vee spick you, Edfarrht.”
As he shambled over to Blowhard’s desk, the Plumber stammered, “Hey, Igor, it’s not a big deal or anything, but would you please stop calling me Edfarrht?”
"Vat?" Lutin blinked, “I zay, Edfarrht. Ees problem?”
The Plumber wrung his hands, “Look, Igor, I don't mind if you call me Edward, or Snowjob, but please don’t call me Edfarrht. Okay?”
Lutin was lost, “You zay Edfarrht ees problem?”
Snowjob nodded, “Yes, it’s embarrassing when you call me Edfarrht."
“Ah, zo…” The weasel struggled to wrap his head around the problem, “I zay Edfarrht? Ees feex?”
“No, no, no…!”
“Enough!” Blowhard interrupted, “No one cares, Edfart. Now take a seat.” As Snowjob settled into a chair, Blowhard got straight down to business, “Igor tells me you’re the best plumber in the business.”
“Da.” Lutin broke in, “Edfarrht ees beast. Trust, Igor. He know.”
“Course, I trust you.” Blowhard patted the rodent’s head, “I never make a move without you, do I?
“Da. Doan moof teel I feex.”
“Edfart, I have a very important job for you.” Blowhard directed Snowjob’s attention to a door several meters from his desk, “The toilet in the executive washroom is woefully inadequate. I need you to install an upgrade.”
“Inadequate, sir?” Snowjob cringed, “How so?”
“Let me put it like this…” Blowhard laid his cards on the table, “...I eat twelve full meals per day, Edfart. So, when it's howdy-doody time I need a high-capacity fixture. Get it?”
“Oh…” Snowjob looked confused, “...but you know I’m not that kind of plumber, don’t you?”
Blowhard stared daggers at Snowjob, “Igor told me that you have the necessary skills to handle this job, Edfart. Are you saying Igor is wrong?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Snowjob saw Igor slash a finger across his throat.
“No!” Snowjob shrieked, “I would never say that! Of course, I can handle the job. You can count on me!”
“Good.” Blowhard shifted his attention to other matters, “You need to get right on this, Edfart. I haven’t saddled up all day and it’s almost high noon. Capish?”
“Sir!” Snowjob bolted to his feet, “Yes, sir! I’ll have that toidy flowing like Victoria Falls before you can say, Deep State Conspiracy!" Then Snowjob raced over to the washroom, flung the door wide and dove headfirst into the commode.