[August 14] [Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?] Home by the Sea, chapter 7

[rose-of-pollux.livejournal.com]

Title: Home by the Sea, chapter 7
Day/Theme: August 14; Will you catch if I'm falling?
Series: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Character: The Dying Informant (and company)
Rating: PG13

Will be cross-posted to my journal and 30_quills


Double Trouble and Top Grunge weren’t about to let the Techie get away—they wasted no time in locking him into one of the cellars of the building.

“Let’s see how you like doing the jailhouse rock for once,” one of the twins sneered.

But the Techie wasn’t giving up without a fight.

“Let me go!” he snarled, trying to break free of their hold. “I need to get back to my brother!”

“The Dying Informant’s checked out,” the other twin said, and he shoved the Techie in the cellar and locked the door.

“NO!” the brunet cried, pounding on the door. “I have to get back… I have to find him…!”

His heart and morale shattering, he sunk to the floor, sobbing. He was never going to get to his brother in time… But maybe he could let the others know!

He attempted to send a message through his communicator, but let out a cry of dismay as he realized that the signal was being blocked. There was no way of letting them know that he was in trouble or that he had a good idea of where the Informant was.

Hours turned to days, and days turned to weeks. Once a day, Double Trouble would give him something to eat, but he rarely could stomach anything—his worry for his brother was too much.

And his fears were not unfounded. As the weeks went by, and as the Informant still refused to talk, Eartha and Robo only hurt him worse. And night was no comfort for him—the ghosts would surround him, trying to feed off of whatever positive emotions the boy had. The boy vented out his feelings by talking to the three mice. And as he got worse and worse, his mind only grew more and more out of it—to him, the mice may as well have been speaking English—answering in voices that, in the boy’s tormented mind, sounded just like the friends he missed so much, only adding to his pain.

He, too, wasn’t eating much, unable to stomach the stale bread that V.I.L.E. provided. Every once in a while, Patty would bring him something fresh to eat, but even those edible dishes didn’t go down easily.

His hope and morale were both nonexistent—his friends really did believe that he was dead… That was the only explanation… Five weeks had gone by… though it seemed like years.

The Informant collapsed on the cot, sobbing. They weren’t coming… they wouldn’t come now. All he could do was hope that they would somehow be able to move on with their lives. It was going to be so hard for them…

The boy’s wounds and bruises began to flare in pain again, causing him to double over.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye to them, he thought. That was, perhaps, the most painful thing. If only he could speak with them… say his necessary goodbyes… And knowing them, they would insist upon visiting during the daylight hours, which he would have told them not to do, but would have wanted so much all the same… If only he was granted that, perhaps he could find this whole horrible fate slightly bearable.

The mouse he had named Techie wandered up to him, squeaking. The boy turned his face to look at the mouse, and allowed him to crawl onto his hand, and he held the mouse close again.

“You’re so much like him…” he said, as the mouse curled up in a ball as he usually did. “Maybe if I say goodbye to you… It’ll be like saying goodbye to him…” He sobbed. “Goodbye, Techie… I know it’s too much to hope for… but even after several hundred years, I hope you still remember me…”

He trailed off as the clock struck midnight, and the ghosts arrived again. The boy shuddered.

“You wouldn’t have liked it here anyway…” he decided.

And the Techie, who was in an absolutely miserable and weakened state, could hear him. The sound of the goodbye was too much for the brunet to bear.

The Techie glanced at the bruises on his hands from his attempts at breaking open the door.

“Why can’t I help you…?” he sobbed. “Why can’t I get to you when you need me most…? Why did I let this happen…?”

The door of the cellar opened again, and the Techie, expecting it to be Double Trouble, didn’t even look up.

“Why didn’t I help you when you were right there…?” he sobbed.

“You didn’t know…” said Kneemoi, sadly. She had long been wanting to set the Techie free, but Double Trouble and Wonder Rat spent too much time guarding the outside of the cellars, worried that he would’ve somehow escaped. But after five weeks had gone by without incident, they were starting to get lax. And now Kneemoi decided to seize the moment.

“I’ll give you the address of that hospital,” she said.

The Techie stared at her in wonder.

“Why… why are you helping me…?”

“It’s like I told your friend—the one you’re looking for… I told him once that sometimes, V.I.L.E agents do have hearts. And as I mentioned to him, I happen to have three!”

She gave him the address, and he found out that it wasn’t that far a drive from ACME.

The first thing that the Techie did upon escaping into the fresh air was send a message to both the Inspector and the Messenger; since he had escaped from V.I.L.E., his communicator was working again.

“I can’t explain now, but come back to New York as soon as you can.”

And then he headed as fast as he could to the outskirts of Pueblo, heading for the ACME airfield. But he was in for a rude awakening. The pilot who had been sent from San Francisco five weeks ago had, of course, long since returned to California after the Techie had not shown up. Julia Argent had tried to contact the Messenger, letting him know that his friend had seemingly vanished. But she had not been able to get through to him.

The brunet felt like crying again. How was he supposed to get back to the Informant!? There had to be another way…

He wasn’t watching where he was going, and ended up bumping headlong into someone. He stumbled backwards, tripping over a rock.

“Whoa, thar!” an oddly familiar voice said, helping the poor agent to his feet. “Hey, I know you! What are you doing up here—and in such a state?”

The Techie looked up, and his jaw dropped—it was Hank Bradford, the rancher he had befriended in Texas during the Phantom Riders case.

Mr. Bradford looked at him with concern.

“Never thought I’d see you up here—I only came to buy a horse—friend of mine can’t keep it, so I’m taking it off his hands… but nevermind. What’re you doin’ wandering around here all by yourself? You ain’t stricken with amnesia again, are you…?”

“No…” the Techie sobbed. “It’s my little brother—the youngest one… He…”

And the rancher understood.

“Did something happen to him?”

“Yes…” the distraught agent wept. “I’ve been trying to get back to New York for five weeks… My plane left without me because I didn’t show up, and now…” He let out an agonized cry as he recalled hearing the Informant’s heart-wrenching farewell in his mind. “Even if I make it back… It’s probably already too late for him…!”

Mr. Bradford placed a hand on his shoulder.

“He thought it was too late for you when he thought you’d become a Rider,” he reminded him. “And just as he decided to throw in the towel, he tried one last time—or so you told me. And he brought you around didn’t he?”

The Techie glanced at him, wide-eyed.

“I’ll pay for your ticket back to New York,” Mr. Bradford went on. “It’s the least I can do to repay you for helping to save my ranch. You give my best to that brother of yours.”

The Techie nodded, wordlessly. Angels really did show up when you least expected it, he realized.

**********************************

The Inspector’s search was not bringing any results. He had gone to Paris as Titus Canbe had said, but after being unable to find Madam LeZaard, he was beginning to suspect that the man’s drunken ramblings had been exactly that.

And he was further annoyed with his communicator—he had sent several messages to the Messenger and the Techie over the past several weeks, but had not received a reply from either of them. He was worried, but decided that since both of them hadn’t replied, it must be some sort of faulty connection.

He had headed eastward, traveling across Europe over the weeks, translator in hand as he asked around, wondering if people had seen any suspicious people around.

And, at last, he had received a lead—someone matching Madam LeZaard’s description had been seen in a small tavern near Bran Castle. Hoping that she wasn’t as drunk as Titus had been, and also hoping that there were no vampires about, he headed in that direction. They had saved the castle from RoboCrook once; perhaps the Count would take that into consideration and help…

He glanced around at his surroundings, his eyes narrowed. He was hearing footsteps; someone else was walking along the same cobblestone pathways of the village. And judging by the rising volume of the footfalls, the other party was heading in the opposite direction, though he was unable to see who it was in the dark, foggy alley.

The Inspector crept silently forward. Was it LeZaard? Well, whoever it was, they were coming closer, apparently not noticing him, either.

His sense of sight nigh useless in the thick fog, the Inspector shut his eyes, sensing when the person was near him. He suddenly reached out, seizing the person’s arm.

The Inspector was immediately greeted with a startled yelp, and, to his astonishment, the older man found a clove of garlic held up to his face.

“Vampire begone!” a familiar voice ordered.

The older agent stared deadpan at the figure in the fog.

“A little nervous, are we, Messenger?”

“…You…?” a voice asked, incredulous.

The Messenger brought the flashlight to the older agent’s face. After speaking with Vulsor, he had decided to head across the Pacific as he had originally planned, searching for the Dr. Sara Bellum that she had mentioned. His travels had led him west, just as the Inspector had been led east.

“Man…” he said. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do…”

“About that…” said the Inspector. “Is there some reason why I haven’t been receiving any communications from you or Techie? I’ve been trying to contact you for the past five weeks!”

“Oh, that…?” the Messenger asked, glumly. “Batteries died, and I forgot to bring a charger for it. Well, I was so worried about Infy, there was no time to go get it!” he added, upon seeing the patronizing look on the Inspector’s face. But that doesn’t explain why you haven’t heard from Techie… Unless he forgot, too… Have you found any sign of Infy?”

“Not one…” said the Inspector, annoyed. “I tried following a lead I got but… All I learned is to never take anything a drunken V.I.L.E. agent says seriously. But he was certain that he was alive… which, of course, is merely telling us what we already knew.”

“So was Vulsor…” the Messenger agreed. “She mentioned something about a guy named Mendoza. You heard of him at all?”

The Inspector shook his head.

“Vulsor also mentioned a Dr. Sara Bellum, so I came here, looking for her.”

“Interesting that we both ended up here…” said the Inspector, his arms folded.

“You think…?” the Messenger began. “…But if Infy were here, Techie would’ve been here before us.”

“And I haven’t heard from him,” the Inspector said. “I was heading to that tavern over there and try to make contact with Madame Ima LeZaard…” He trailed off as the Messenger snarked at the name. “Care to join me?”

“Why not? I never did find that Sara Bellum…” he said, striding into the tavern with him.

The older agent scanned the room. Two women were in conversation at a back table—and one matched LeZaard’s description.

“I think that’s her…” he said to the Messenger.

“And I’m sure that’s Bellum talking to her. I’ve got this one, Bro… Just follow my lead…” The Messenger strode to the table. “Hello, Ladies…” he said, with a winning smile. “Can my esteemed friend and I buy you something to eat?”

The Inspector shook his head, but joined him.

But the V.I.L.E. agents seemed flattered and amused, and were willing to let the men treat them to dinner.

“So…” said the Messenger, casually. “What about that Dr. Mendoza, huh? That serum of his… Does it really work?”

“Of course…” sighed Dr. Bellum, assuming his knowledge of Mendoza meant that he was affiliated with V.I.L.E.. “If it had not, Conrad Knuckle wouldn’t have gone through the headache of hiring him.”

The Inspector nearly choked on his glass of water. EMCA was involved in this?

“But why would Knuckle want to get rid of the Dying Informant?” asked the Messenger, clutching his glass so tightly that it was in danger of breaking.

“Oh, you know him…” LeZaard purred. “He is upset that ACME is better at stopping us than EMCA. And he thinks it’s because of the Dying Informant—their best agent. Take away the Dying Informant, and EMCA will reign supreme.”

“Of course, he’s alive, though…” said the Inspector.

“Of course…” said Bellum. “He’s more useful to us alive. But Carmen says that he isn’t talking—five weeks have gone by, and the boy is still silent. Not even Eartha and Robo are getting him to talk.”

“What happens if he doesn’t talk?” asked the Messenger.

“We’re not sure,” said Bellum. “He’s pretty much out of it as it is; even if he does talk, we probably won’t understand any of it. But Carmen isn’t going to let him go; she believes that she can get some information from him. I say she’s wasting her time, but… either way, the boy will be stuck in that Home by the Sea.”

“Where is this Home by the Sea?” asked the Inspector.

And now Le Zaard frowned.

“If you were from V.I.L.E. and knew about Mendoza, you would know where it is!” she said.

“Ooh, very perceptive,” said the Messenger, as he and the Inspector slapped the handcuffs on them.

“ACME!” Dr. Bellum shirked.

“Thank you for the lovely evening, Ladies,” said the Messenger, with a smirk. “Thanks to you, we’ll find our brother soon.”

“How?” asked LeZaard. “We certainly aren’t telling you where the Home by the Sea is…”

The Inspector blinked as he received an incoming message from the Techie, telling them to return to New York.

“But Techie does,” he said. “We need to get back to New York.”

“You mean he was there all along…?” the Messenger began, trailing off. “No…” Five weeks they had wasted, when he had been in New York all along!?

The Inspector swallowed hard. They had gone, without even thinking to search the city, or any of the other districts…

“Well, we’re bringing him home now,” he said.

The Messenger nodded.

“Techie will have probably found him by the time we get back…” he said. At least, he hoped so. The boy didn’t deserve to suffer.

Just hold on, Infy… he said. You’re coming home.