it's in the way you're always hiding from the light

Monday, December 11th, 2006
A Really Disgusting Hour of the Morning
The White House
Washington, DC

"Mr. President?"

"mrphn?" said Randall M. Winston, Jr., who was a third awake at best.

"Mr. President, there's been a problem with the space station."

Maybe it was a dream. Randall pulled a pillow over his head. "Go away. I didn't turn on the bat-signal."

"I really can't do that," said the Secret Service agent whose unfortunate lot in life it was to sound almost exactly like Kevin Conroy. "Mr. President, this is a first-caliber emergency."

Randall sighed and shoved the pillow aside. "What? Don't tell me it's come out of orbit. Is it going to hit Chicago?"

"No, sir."

"Is it going to hit anywhere inhabited?" He rubbed the sleep-crud away from one eye, trying terrifically not to wake up his wife, who was a sounder sleeper by far.

"Sir, it hasn't come out of orbit at all."

"Then what's the emergency?"

---

One Video Transmission Later

"Well," said the President, blinking at the final image frozen on screen. "That's not good."

"No, sir," said the slightly crackly voice from the speakerphone. "It really, really isn't."

Randall adjusted his glasses. "Has anybody called Mike Flaherty yet?"

"The Secretary of State's been informed, sir," said Agent Batman. "He's on his way."

"I didn't think that kind of thing was possible."

"Technically, sir," said the speakerphone, "it's not. That would be why they call it the supernatural."

"Ye-e-e-es. . . Ah! Mike! You're here. Fantastic." Randall beamed as the Secretary of State was ushered in. "Maybe you can help the good folks at Mission Control and me make sense of this."

---

One More Video Transmission Later

Flaherty stared at the screen, biting the first joint on his thumb as he considered what'd just been shown.

"Anything at all, Mike," said the President. "Any time now."

"I'm thinking, Mr. President," said Flaherty, and went back to biting his thumb and staring.

"We don't really have time for much more of this," said the speakerphone. "Contact's completely unreliable and there's still four other crewmembers on the Station. This is a matter of life and death for them."

"No kidding," said the President. "Mike? You in there?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. President," said Flaherty, looking up. "I’m trying to remember the Ghostbusters' phone number."

and I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain

Monday, December 11th, 2006
A Moderately Disgusting Hour of the Morning
14 North Moore Street
Manhattan

"Guys… guys… wake up!" said Janine. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you!"

"Remind me to give you a raise sometime, Janine," mumbled Peter. "That way I'll have something to take away from you."

"Ha, ha, very funny, Doctor Venkman," Janine answered. "There's somebody from the White House on the phone. And it's not about the EPA thing, either."

Ray had been trying to sleep just a few minutes more, but nothing brought him awake quite like hearing those three little letters. He sat up and blinked at Janine. "Did they say what they wanted?"

"They said they wanted to talk to one of you guys and that it was really, really important," Janine said. "Somebody better get downstairs and pick up that telephone toot sweet."

Ray and Peter looked at each other. With a sigh, Ray said, "I'll take it."

Very little in the world could send Ray into a state of lower enthusiasm than interaction with the Federal government. Not even using the pole to get downstairs was enough to liven his mood. By the time Caller ID had confirmed the source of the call and the White House spokesman introduced himself, Ray was about ready to dig Janine's airhorn out of the desk drawers and just blast it into the mouthpiece. Still, a modicum of manners prevailed. "I really hope this is important, Mr. Bondek," he said instead.

"We wouldn't be bothering you if it weren't, Dr. Stantz. Believe me, the President would be just as happy to leave you alone as you'd be to be left alone, but this is an emergency and there's really no one else in the country capable of responding."

"Uh huh," said Ray, shifting his weight a little as he turned to ignore Peter's frantic 'tell me what's going on' gestures. "So what is it?"

"Well, to make this as simple as possible- we've lost an astronaut."

Ray looked at the Caller ID, and looked at the nearest clock, and felt no shame at all in answering, "Have you tried looking in the refrigerator?"

". . . ex. . . cuse me?"

"It's amazing how often stuff winds up in there when someone around here thinks they lost it."

"Dr. Stantz, I'm serious. One of the two American crewmembers on board the International Space Station went out on an EVA last night-"

"It's still last night," Ray muttered, but the spokesman wasn't listening.

"-and something happened to him that I’m not at liberty to describe over the phone. The scientists at Mission Control are unanimous in stating that there's no way that what happened could've been the result of any natural phenomenon any of them know of. We need your help."

Ray looked at the clock again. "Mr. Bondek," he said, "after what happened in Montana, I ordinarily wouldn't touch a job offer from the Federal Government-" ("WHAT?" said Peter; Ray ignored him) "-with a full-on NBC bunny suit and the tongs of Saint Dunstan. Especially not after an October like we just had. Since you guys've been so cooperative about the whole EPA mess, though, I'll tell you this: the day Nikola Tesla and Charles Proteus Steinmetz are national heroes, I'll consider it."

"Actually, Dr. Stantz, do you get CNN?"

"Huh? Yeah, sure- why?"

"Turn on your television, please."

Ray found the remote and pointed it at Janine's little desktop television.

"-emergency session of Congress called an hour ago, President Winston presented an extremely unusual request: the posthumous award of the Presidential Medal of Freedom to scientists Nikola Tesla and-"

"Will that do, Dr. Stantz?" said the spokesman in an only marginally smug voice.