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Mr. Reynolds sat in the kitchen, pensively sipping a cup of coffee. Baxter was washing up from the breakfast, with an apron over his uniform.
"It sounds like some sort of ray, Baxter. And yet, I don't think we've come across one like this before. The function, as described by Eddie, is reminiscent of a sort of gravity beam, working with or against mass to create a sense of weight, or destroy someone's physical relationship to the ground. Eddie alternately described a slippery feeling at the ball, a sense of being thrown across the room, and then, later on, the pressure into the couch combined with a lifting up and slapping back down."
"Yes, sir," allowed Baxter, examing the surface of a stainless steel saucepan. "If you will forgive the interruption, sir, there is a very fine set of cookware which I have recently seen for sale -- your current pots are in sad disrepair at the moment. I fear it is a result of that cook you had up until last month, combined with the help from last night. Someone appears to have boiled something dry in this pan, then left it on the stove until I discovered the lapse this morning." Baxter frowned at the spots in the metal, and then began to wipe the pot with a rag.
"Yes, yes, whatever you think best," Mr. Reynolds said absently. "I say, do you suppose someone has really discovered a sort of ray? Think what an advance for science that would be! Of course, it is very distressing that it appears someone with very little care in application has decided to experiment with it." He shifted in his chair. "Baxter, I am very nearly upset with whoever this is. To experiment, in my house, on my guests! It's unpardonable. Not to mention the uses this type of device could have. I shall have to begin to decipher how it works, and how to defend against it."
"Indeed, sir. One might venture to say that however exciting the new development is for science, it may cause a good deal of trouble for those tasked to defend against it."
"Quite. How is it that the villans always come up with the fascinating new technology, anyway."
"I daresay, sir," Baxter noted as he placed the saucepan in a cupboard below the countertops, "that is has some part to do with a sense of amorality and carelessness in allowing for the results of their actions."
"You may be right. Sometimes I can't help admiring their ingenuity, though, Baxter." Mr. Reynolds finished his coffee. "Eh, well, I suppose that good people do come up with fancy inventions, but then they end up marketing and mass-producing them, and before you know it they're commonplace and don't excite the same interest. When photography first came out, it must have been very interesting for everyone involved."
"Quite so, sir." Baxter removed his apron, refilled Mr. Reynold's coffeecup, and moved to the pantry. Revealing the secret panel behind the canned tomatoes, he activated the closed-circuit camera program to verify that Edward Staunton was still in his room. The picture showed that gentleman, dressed again, sitting at a desk in the room making notes upon a piece of paper. A tray of used plates, flatware, and a teapot sat on a small table by the door.
"It seems Mr. Staunton has completed his breakfast, sir. I will go fetch his tray. Is there anything else you require at present?"
"No, thank you, Baxter. Please inform Eddie that I -- I mean the Panjandrum -- shall drop in for a moment in an hour or two. Ask him if he needs anything; perhaps a book or two from the library."
"Yes, sir," Baxter replied, retiring to his quarters to re-costume himself. Keeping prisoners was always such a hassle on the wardrobe.
eeek!
I may look delinquent, but it's only looks, I promise. (To admit delinquency is to die, no?)
Oceanic Anemone
I shall sink your battleships!
Mr. Reynolds thoughtfully stroked the blue button on the end of the stick he was holding. Brightly brushed aluminum in appearance, it was actually a hand-held energy generator, capable of producing kilojoules and focusing them tightly. The laser applications of this were clear -- however, the master of the house was more interested in other possibilities at the moment.
"Baxter, if I take this and add a responder to the end ... but no, that still doesn't address the problem." The end of the rod sparked with a flame of lightning, which lanced across the room and crackled on the surface of a large, black orb.
"Sir, if I may suggest," Baxter mildy replied, "You may wish to quantify the gravity field first."
"Oh, I know, I know. It's just that the theory doesn't make sense in my mind. I can use the spectrometer to measure the pull of gravity on anything -- light, for instance -- but if I cannot reformat the energy to interfere with that pull, I have accomplished nothing. Mass is what does the trick in space -- but although black holes will pull light in, that's hardly something you might carry around in your pocket to a dinner party." He frowned in frustration. "No, there's something we're missing. Something that has attractive qualities."
Baxter thought briefly of aquamarine eyes under a golden mask, but judiciously kept his mouth shut.
"Hmm," said Mr. Reynolds. "We can attract electricty. That much is clear. Magnets also do not produce much difficulty. Is there another field which can be attracted or interfered with in the human body? Or in any body, for that matter?"
Baxter thought for a moment. "Well, sir, you've established that the mass correlation will not suffice in this example. Perhaps we ought to take another look at the particulate elements which form this planet. Are there other attracting and repelling atoms and molecues which might aid us? Not looking at it from the electron standpoint."
Mr. Reynolds pulled up a diagram on a computer which sat on a desk. The table of elements stood in all its glory, although there were a few additions which would not have been evident in any schoolroom.
"I say, Baxter, you may have something there. Look at these two. Do you remember when Maliguel had that generator in his cavern, the one that blew up and created such a nice addition to your sister's cellar?"
"Indeed, sir. I remember it well."
"Well, I think he may have been on to something. Only it may be hard to maintain stability. Let's use the stansitron and set up a containment field." He rifled a drawer, found some heavy gloves, and put them on. "I'm going to make this work, or die trying!"
"I was planning to prepare chocolate eclair cake for dessert tonight, sir."
"Oh. Well, then, I'll postpone the dying. But we're still going to do it."
Baxter considered how ironic it was that sweeping statements never seemed to come out quite right unless one was at the movies.
He is not dead! Further developments are impending?