|20.20|21|22|22.2|22.22|22.222|23|24|25|Those Extra Four…|1|2|3|4|Back Cover|
“She certainly iz devine, sir,” Doctor Torpol says, his mind spinning a ball upon the large roulette of manipulative mannerisms that make his “boss” do exactly what he wants. “But vith madame Rose still yet to return unt an unsettling silence from zhe two freshmen, ve haven’t much uzzah choice.”
Sean Hymarc, his lunch date with his incomparably beautiful actress-turned-MERC Jennae coming to a most rude interruption by The Good Doctor, isn’t sure what to do. He knows the Doctor is right, the Doctor is always right – with three of his MERCs drenched in a thick lapse of communication and the fourth still wallowing around in the mud, there only remains a few operatives to complete the retrieval mission that was, again, most rudely interrupted by the entrance of an alien spaceship into Earth’s atmosphere. The New Manhattan problems are real.
“I know zhis iz a most unappreciated interruption of zhe little time you get to spend vith Mizz Jennae, Sir, but if I am to conetinue vorking on ze ozah project, I cannot bozzah myself tagging along vith ze children.”
“The other project?” Hymarc asks, rapidly searching through the filing cabinet that is his functional memory. “You mean the other project, or the other other project? Or do you mean the iF project? Or the, you know, la dada da-dah?”
“What are you crazy boys talkin’ about? Eddie, can’t you just leave me and Mister Hymarc alone to finish our meal?” the Mister Hymarc bit said in the sultriest voice voice coaches can teach. She puts her hands together in a pleading clasp, advantageously touching her elbows in such a way so her girls peek out of her blouse for the Naughty Doctor. “I promise we can have a therapy session a little bit later, okay Eddie?”
Sean, completely unaware of what goes on behind closed doors in his own building because he spends so much time staring out the windows of his office, continues. “Yes Doctor, Jennae and I can join you for a group therapy session later on today. And, she can go and retrieve the transmitter as soon as we’re finished eating. Why don’t you jus– or, better idea, why doesn’t Gizmo just go rally the troops? By the time he’s done figuring out how to complete his remedial task, we should at least be on the dessert stage of our date.”
Torpol looks to Jennae for confirmation and she winks at him, fake blushing at his use of the word date whilst her left leg travels to foreign lands under the tablecloth.
“Vedy vell!” Doctor shouts, backing away from the table with more haste than the blood that’s traveling southbound through his body. He turns around, his head still facing the lunch date, and says, “I shall go rally zhe cyborg an–” until he walks right into G1-Zm0, who had evidently already been rallied.
“What is my task, President Hymarc?” G1-Zm0 asks President Hymarc, as if his creator wasn’t standing right in front of him. As if he wasn’t grateful towards that creator for taking his cold, lifeless corpse and surgically implanting it with so much metal that his skin serves as nothing more than rust prevention.
“You preposterous cyborg!” Hymarc bellows, slamming his hands down upon the table and nearly knocking over the suddenly frightened Jennae’s wine. “My love, I apologize,” he says as the date almost flounders out of his hands.
Then to G1-Zm0, “How many times must I instruct you, never just show up unannounced! You… you’re just… you’re so ominous, so off-putting… your very presence is reminiscent of the onset of the bubonic plague.”
“My humblest apologies, sir,” G1-Zm0 says as Doctor Torpol pushes past him, the lab coat heading straight to the elevator with a small storm brooding inside his head. A brainstorm, one might say, rushing towards the calm beaches of the popular vacation town that he’s going to leave sandier than it’s ever been before.
G1-Zm0 continues with, “Understood, I will upgrade my stealth technology at once,” feeling nothing from the insults.
“NO!” Hymarc squeals, this time picking up a dull butter knife out of the gravy boat full of whipped butter and launching it directly into G1-Zm0’s cybernetic left eye. It bounces off and doesn’t leave a scratch. “No, you… j’st… just don’t appear in the presence of the humans in this building unless such is expressly requested of you. Am I clear?”
“You’re goddamned fucking right, for once in your eternal life that will never end thanks to the miraculous scientific developments and achievements of my Apex Corporation. Now. Go and retrieve Violet, or whatever silly codename you ridiculous lot of roided-out rambunctious little runts have elected to give her, Miss Jennae of course not included in that description, and then you can come back here. Then, and only then, may you return to my presence. Clear?”
G1-Zm0 bows and, using the wheels built into the heels of his feet, turns around and approaches the special elevator that Torpol installed into the building for him to use, which just happens to have the appearance of a walk-in coat closet. He gets in and closes the door, pushing past the coats that still have their tags from the various clothing companies that Apex acquired in the States until he finally finds the button to call the lift.
This leaves Hymarc to finally be alone with the wonderfully wine-breathed woman of his dreams, the only thing he wants today. The only thing he’s ever wanted… egad, if only he could muster up the courage to declare his true feelings instead of hiding them behind meaningless little hints like I love you, Marry me, and the classic, You’re the singular reason I even commissioned the entire MERC program, we don’t have to bother with them anymore! We can run away, just you and I, hand-in-hand along the sunny beaches of your dream home. Wherever you want to go, my precious angel; I would give you the world if you asked me to.
“Now, where were we?” Hymarc asks of Jennae, noticing that she re-buttoned the top of her dress but not caring because she’s a special kind of beautiful, the kind that makes a man fall for a woman’s soul rather than just her body.