"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S NOT DEAD???!!!", the voice on the other end of the cell phone roared. The voice belonged to one Lanny "The Shark" Roykirk. Before and during the war, he had be just your average thief, and all-around nasty person, who had been in and out of prison. Then he lucked his into a position of true power, becoming the head of GlobalCon, and becoming the mysterious "Chairman". The person speaking to this villian kept in the shadows, remaning unseen to all, and speaking in a very hushed tone in some sort of think accent.
"I give her posioned water, like you say. And she pass out. But they find her too quickly, and take her to hospital. Is not my fault." The Chairman gritted his teeth through the phone.
"I practically hand deliver you that posion. I make sure the understudy ends up miles away from Old Chicago. I make things as simple and easy as possible, and you BOTCH THE JOB???!!!" The voice in the shadows gulped hard and began to stutter.
"But-but-she is alive is true, but she cannot perform. She is too weak."
"Then why am I not reading that the ballet is cancelled?" The Chairman asked point blank. The voice in the shadows stuttered even more.
"We-well-well-ahhhhhh.....they ahhh.....find someone else." The Chairman's voice got very quiet and seemed to take a deadly tone.
"Who?"
"Is name I never hear before...anywhere......in no ballet circle...I-I-I never hear this name..."
"WHO????"
"Ahhhhh...Lang....yes....that is name...Cri-ket Lang, yes." There was a long eerie silence before The Chairman spoke again in a flat even tone.
"Perhaps this can work to my advantage after all. It might be better if Governer Saunders was killed right in front of the others. Now listen. I'm having a specialist brought in. He'll contact you the night of the performance."
"You mean ballet is going on?" the voice asked.
"I said LISTEN!" The Chairman barked. "When this person contacts you, you follow his instructions to the letter, understand?"
"Da, I understand."
"Good, because if the outcome is not to my liking, you are going to recieve a very nasty Christmas present."
The Nut-Cricket Adventure - Part 4
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ButchyBoy
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ButchyBoy
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Three days had now passed. Each rehearsal seemed to be more intense than the last. Cricket had downloaded the movements of the lead, Clara, into her memory banks. Then she imagined she was a 12 year old girl, caught up in a wonderful fantasy world, filled with wonder and danger. That was the easy part. With each passing day, however, Anton Petrov kept pushing and pushing the young android more and more it seemed. What time she had off, she spent checking out the other performers, seeking any clue as to who had try to kill her friend, Amanda Tanner. Through all this, there were times Cricket would come dangerously close to overheating. The cooling fan located near the small of her back had cut out a few times. She had spent the night before Christmas Eve at Betty's having the fan belts replaced. Now she was in the middle her final solo dance in front of the big Christmas, with the toy nutcracker in her hand.
"Nyet, nyet, nyet!" Petrov barked, clapping his hands on each 'nyet'. Cricket stopped her dancing and looked at him. "Passion, Mrs. Lang, passion! You must put more passion into it!" The robot girl breathed a heavy sigh.
"Mr. Petrov, if I put any more passion into it, I'm going fall right through the floor." Petrov just grinned and raised his hand.
"Yes! That is spirit!" Just then, Petrov's pocket watch chimed a few notes from the Sugar Plum Faries dance. He took it out, looked at it, and smiled. "Ah, Lunch!" Everyone there, including Cricket breathed a collective sigh of relief, as they began to scatter offstage. Petrov whistled, stopping them in their tracks.
"I have not excused ANY of you. Now; there is no afternoon rehearsal, but do not slack off! Call is 6pm sharp...DO NOT.....be late." He waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then he finally spoke. "Now...you are all excused." He walked right up to Cricket as she gathered her things, and looked her in the eye.
"Passion, Mrs. Lang...remember...PASSION!" Cricket smiled at the director.
"Yes, Mr. Petrov, I'll remember" As he walked away, Cricket continued to smile, although the smile grew tighter, and she spoke through her teeth.
"I'll show you passion, you little slave driver." Petrov spoke as he kept walking.
"I heard that!" he cried.
Just then, Cricket felt a much needed hand on her sholder. She knew it to be Harry, and her mood softened when she turned and saw his face. She held up the toy nutcracker she still had in her hand and made it talk in a rather mocking tone.
"Passion, remember, passion, blahblahblahblahblah" Harry chuckled at her, taking the toy nutcracker, looking it over.
"Well at least you have six hours before you get ready."
"Yes, and I could use a thick chocolate flavored lubricant shake right about now." Cricket said, wrapping her arms around Harry.
"Everyone check out?" he asked as they made their way into the street.
"Yep. Everyone." Cricket then extened one finger after the other, as she went through the list of 'suspects'.
"All of the kids in the ballet are from the local ophanage. I doubut if any of them are criminal masterminds. The rest of them; The Mouse King, the rats, The Prince, all of the dancers; most of them came from Russia with Petrov. A few of them are from arond here. But no one with phony name, no criminal records, and no one fron any of the domed cities. If there is a mole within this group, they're a very well hidden mole. How about you, Harry? You and Luis have any luck?"
"We came to the same dead end I'm afraid. No known hit men or women to be in Old Chicago. I even had Camillia Hargrove check with Interpool. Nobody they know of flying in from way out of town."
"We've overlooked someone Harry. Someone probably right under our noses."
The little fembot had no idea just how right she was. If they had looked back at the theatre, they might have seen a figure in the shadows, watching them both walk away. And they might have seen that figure hoilding up a rather sharp, shiny blade!
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Next: Let the ballet begin
"Nyet, nyet, nyet!" Petrov barked, clapping his hands on each 'nyet'. Cricket stopped her dancing and looked at him. "Passion, Mrs. Lang, passion! You must put more passion into it!" The robot girl breathed a heavy sigh.
"Mr. Petrov, if I put any more passion into it, I'm going fall right through the floor." Petrov just grinned and raised his hand.
"Yes! That is spirit!" Just then, Petrov's pocket watch chimed a few notes from the Sugar Plum Faries dance. He took it out, looked at it, and smiled. "Ah, Lunch!" Everyone there, including Cricket breathed a collective sigh of relief, as they began to scatter offstage. Petrov whistled, stopping them in their tracks.
"I have not excused ANY of you. Now; there is no afternoon rehearsal, but do not slack off! Call is 6pm sharp...DO NOT.....be late." He waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then he finally spoke. "Now...you are all excused." He walked right up to Cricket as she gathered her things, and looked her in the eye.
"Passion, Mrs. Lang...remember...PASSION!" Cricket smiled at the director.
"Yes, Mr. Petrov, I'll remember" As he walked away, Cricket continued to smile, although the smile grew tighter, and she spoke through her teeth.
"I'll show you passion, you little slave driver." Petrov spoke as he kept walking.
"I heard that!" he cried.
Just then, Cricket felt a much needed hand on her sholder. She knew it to be Harry, and her mood softened when she turned and saw his face. She held up the toy nutcracker she still had in her hand and made it talk in a rather mocking tone.
"Passion, remember, passion, blahblahblahblahblah" Harry chuckled at her, taking the toy nutcracker, looking it over.
"Well at least you have six hours before you get ready."
"Yes, and I could use a thick chocolate flavored lubricant shake right about now." Cricket said, wrapping her arms around Harry.
"Everyone check out?" he asked as they made their way into the street.
"Yep. Everyone." Cricket then extened one finger after the other, as she went through the list of 'suspects'.
"All of the kids in the ballet are from the local ophanage. I doubut if any of them are criminal masterminds. The rest of them; The Mouse King, the rats, The Prince, all of the dancers; most of them came from Russia with Petrov. A few of them are from arond here. But no one with phony name, no criminal records, and no one fron any of the domed cities. If there is a mole within this group, they're a very well hidden mole. How about you, Harry? You and Luis have any luck?"
"We came to the same dead end I'm afraid. No known hit men or women to be in Old Chicago. I even had Camillia Hargrove check with Interpool. Nobody they know of flying in from way out of town."
"We've overlooked someone Harry. Someone probably right under our noses."
The little fembot had no idea just how right she was. If they had looked back at the theatre, they might have seen a figure in the shadows, watching them both walk away. And they might have seen that figure hoilding up a rather sharp, shiny blade!
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Next: Let the ballet begin
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