The Diabolical Glyde

Chapter 2 - Teasel and Mr. Telephone

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A very dazed Teasel and a compassionate Bon were exposed to a short clip of news from the Superia Channel. Seconds before they had watched a grainy feed of the Diabolical Glyde giving Tron the what for. Now an old gentleman was reporting that the mayor of Nino Town was being held in custody for being an idiot and lewd acts with an imported pig. They'd have more on the story when they came back but the two had already heard more than they ever wanted to know. The TV was turned off, the phone was hung up, and the two started running, one floating, out a door and to a control room.

"Darn it Bon, if we don't work fast Tron might not see the end of this, and I'll never forgive myself!"

"Bawuu," Bon said in mutual turn. The floors were not carpeted, the walls were the pale blue of steel that needed painting, and most of the port holes were covered with wax paper. The Starcraft was not anything like the Gesselcraft, and definitely nothing to be proud of. The pair climbed (and/or ascended) a ladder and entered a room filled with Servebots, each trying to keep the ultimate balance of flying the ship as fast as it would go without having it fall to peaces under them. In all truth they had 'borrowed' a few segments of rocket fuel from the recently completed effort to get Megaman back to Terra, and, if they really wanted to, they could be flying faster than a speeding bullet, but they'd also be out of control, indu bitably headed for a mountain three times over the horizon that they didn't even know was there until they crashed into it, and that was assuming they didn't just explode like a cherry bomb.

"How long till we reach the Sulfur Bottom?" he demanded.

"Nine thousand six hundred and twenty two seconds?" one of them called out.

"Nine thousand seconds? What are you an atomic clock?"

"Actually-" it began

Teasel balled his fist, "Don't answer that! Just give me a ballpark."

"Erm, roughly a day and nine minutes, give or take a few seconds for wind speed of course."

"Of course," Teasel muttered. "I didn't want to do this Bon, but considering the options I just can't see any other way out. Get me Megaman, on the phone right now." A few of the servebots started running around like mad. Eventually one came in with a phone, and another behind him had the receiver. Teasel snatched it up and cleared his throat. Three rings, four rings, five rings, they must not like picking up the phone. Suddenly a woman's voice came on the phone.

"Yes," it said.

Teasel cleared his throat a little more. "Is this the Volnutt residence?"

"Why yes it is."

"Is Megaman there?"

"I'm sorry he just went out with Roll."

"When do you think they'll be back?"

"I don't think--"

"WAIT A MINUTE! A date? Like a date, date?"

"I think so."

"Why that little-"

"What?"

"It's nothing!"

"Is this Teasel Bonne?"

"Noooo," he said, his voice dropping an octave or so, and his eyes darting all around the control room trying to find something to change the subject. After an awkward pause he decided against, 'I just wanted to thank him for petting my cat the other day', and blurted out, "He owes me money." Another awkward pause followed; broken eventually by the unconvinced girl's voice assured him she would relay the message.

He handed the phone back to the second servbot with an uncommonly loud sigh of relieve, only to hear a voice on the other end call out, "Hello?" His face suddenly contorted in a manner that made it look so like a monkey he would have screamed to see himself in a mirror.

He grabbed the phone cord and yanked it out of the wall, declaring: "I think we've had enough from Mr. Telephone for one day."

"Who was it Mr. Teasel?" a random servbot asked.

"Oh, nobody, just the cleaning lady."

"It didn't sound like a cleaning lady, Mr. Teasel," said another.

He balled both his fists and, raising them in the air, bellowed, "Okay it wasn't the cleaning lady! But that's not important! The important thing is that as-we-speak Tron is enduring grueling torture and all we can think about is ourselves! Can't this thing go any faster?"

"Bawuu," Bon said sadly.

"That's true," one of the servbots replied, "But I have an idea!"

Teasel, his fists in the air, looking quite mad (meaning crazy, not angry) glared down at him. Usually he had the bright ideas, and even though some of them weren't so bright, the ones that worked always made him feel better. But he was running on empty and when there's nothing inside but spit and vinegar you make sacrifices. He sighed once more, dropping his hands to his sides, and bowing his head. "Yes #20?"

"If we outfitted Bon with a rocket he could make it to the Sulfur Bottom in no time, and I could ride on his back."

Teasel perked up and started stroking the metallic device on his chin. "That might work. And we could have him ready in five minutes, why, he'd be there in ten,"

"Six-hundred and forty-eight seconds to be exact."

Teasel eyed his little compatriot. "We'll do it, and you can light the fuse."

"Me! But! Mr. Teasel, Protocol dictates-"

"Well #20 get started, we don't have all day. I'll be relaxing in my room if anybody needs me."

"Yes Mr. Teasel," they all said as he marched out.

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