Part 25 (1/2)
”It was after we got caught in that Cineverse cycle,” he began, ”-you know, all those swashbucklers.”
”Swashbucklers?” Zabana asked, the oddest look on his jungle-bred features.
”And then he came and rescued us,” Roger added rapidly. ”But he said that none of us would-uh-remember any of it.”
His voice faltered as he realized the problem with his explanation. How could anybody remember what happened if they weren't supposed to?
His mother's voice cut into the silence. ”Roger, if you're not going to pay attention to me, I might as well leave.” She glanced up and down the beach with a frown, as if this was the first time she had really looked at her surroundings. ”How did I get here, anyway?”
The jungle prince spoke hesitantly. ”Zabana. .. remember. . . swords.”
”Mrs. Gordon,” Delores said helpfully, ”we'll try to explain everything to you, as soon as we can figure it out ourselves.”
”Well, thank you,” Roger's mother replied, somewhat mollified. ”At least someone is looking out for my welfare. And who is this attractive young lady? For heaven's sake, Roger, you could introduce people to your mother!”
”In a minute, Mother,” Roger answered. ”So you remember the Plotmaster, too?''
Zabana nodded slowly. ”Only now you mention it.””Yeah,” Louie added slowly. ”I remember-all these swashbuckling places-and this guy in blue smoke.”
”Blue shmoke?” Doc called from the sand. ”I thought it wash one of my vis.h.i.+ons!”
Louie whistled. ”And Roger remembered it. See, guys? I told you Roger had his methods!”
”No wonder he new Captain Crusader,” Zabana agreed.
Oh, that. In all the hubbub with his mother, Roger had almost forgotten the new honor bestowed upon him. But the more he thought of it-even if he could somehow be- come the hero's hero-this situation was too serious for a lone individual. Combating the Change called for everybody working together. He decided he'd have to have a heart-to-heart talk with everybody about this, too-as soon as he cleared up this business about the Plotmaster.
”But there's more,” Roger continued. ”The Plotmaster contacted me for a reason.
There was something he wanted to warn me about,”
”Roger!” his mother exclaimed, the imperious tone returning to her voice. ”I'll start warning you, if you don't introduce me-”
”In a minute-” Roger began, when he realized he was surrounded by blue smoke. He glanced around at the fog-shrouded shapes of his companions, shapes that had ceased moving, as if the smoke had frozen the world. There was something else odd, too.
This smoke had arrived without the usual explosion. But there was some sound- music, faint and high, like a distant choir of angels. Who could- ROGER, BABY, LONG TIME NO SEE!.
WE HAVE TO TALK.
It was, of course, the Plotmaster, backlit as usual, smoking his blue-smoke cigar. This time, Roger was considerably happier to see him.
”At last!” Roger called. He grinned broadly. The Plot-master could explain everything. ”Now you can finish your warning. I do appreciate it, sir. I'm sure it helped me to survive. But could you tell me, was it something to do with the Art Film world, or was it about the size of the Cowa-bunga-munga?”
But the Plotmaster shook his backlit head.
ROGER, SWEETIE, BABY!.
MY WARNING WAS FOR NOTHING THAT COMMON.
THOSE THINGS HAPPEN IN THE CINEVERSE EVERY DAY.
Of course. Roger should have realized that. After all, the Plotmaster hadn't meddled in most of the earlier crises they had faced. The situation would have to be truly extraordinary for this powerful being to show his hand. That, of course, meant the warning could have referred to only one thing.”Oh, then it was the death of Captain Crusader,” Roger said with confidence.
But the Plotmaster's head was still shaking.
NO, EVEN AN EVENT OF THAT SCOPE IS NOT UNUSUAL IN THE.
CINEVERSE.
LISTEN, THIS IS IMPORTANT.
The Plotmaster took a long drag on his cigar, as if contemplating what was the best way to broach a subject of this gravity. Blue smoke curled upwards to join the like- colored fog that surrounded the two of them, obscuring everything else on the beach.
After a moment, the big man waved his stogie at Roger.
WE'RE TALKING ABOUT REAL DISASTER, HERE.
I HAVE TO TALK TO YOU BEFORE YOUR MOTHER SHOWS UP.
”My mother?” Roger asked, almost laughing despite himself. What would the Plotmaster want with his mother. ”But she's here already.”
SHE IS?.
The Plotmaster stood there, frozen for an instant, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard.
A chill shot through Roger. The mention of his mother didn't seem humorous anymore. This was the first time he had ever heard fear in the big man's voice.
The Plotmaster looked upwards.
SID, DID YOU HEAR THAT? WHY WASN'T I TOLD?.
Roger couldn't make out the answer. It sounded like nothing so much as a blast of music from the angelic choir.
SID, THAT'S NO EXCUSE!.
I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR CHERUBS!.
YOU'RE FIRED.
The angelic choir cut off abruptly. The Plotmaster turned his attention back to Roger.
LIKE I TOLD YOU, ROGER BABY, I CAN BE RUTHLESS.
BUT WHAT CAN WE DO-NOW?.
He picked up a thick sheaf of paper from the table behind him, and began to leaf through it. Roger remembered: Last time, the Plotmaster had called this wad of paper ”the script.”
UM.