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Date: Thu, 29 Jan 1998 00:21:04 -0500
From: "Eric R. Umali" 
To: JQ Fanfiction ML ,
        JQ Refugee ML 
Subject: [Quest] Fic: "Property of A Lady" 1/2
Sender: owner-quest@maison-otaku.net
Reply-To: quest@maison-otaku.net

Well, when I wrote this one, it was a lot more topical.

-- Eric.

>> (Can't you picture it, though?  Benton Quest as 'Q', Jonny as James
>> Bond... and there's the potential for SO many jokes about Jonny not
having
>> a driver's license so he can't drive the Astin Martin (or for the new

>> films, the BMW)...)
>::snicker:  Now there's one with some crossover potential if I've ever
>seen one!
>--
>Debbie Kluge

No.  No... don’t... don’t do it, Eric... You’ve got finals and enough
unfinished stories to choke a river...
Fight it... Don’t do it...

Ba-da- ba-daa--

Disclaimer: Characters and associated details are property of HB and are
used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.

Archiving permission granted.

THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST

Synopsis:  Action.  Suspense.  Gadgets.  Good looking people.

Categories: E, V, ALT(?), JQ/JB HR(?)

“PROPERTY OF A LADY”

by Eric R. Umali

The Mediterranean, halfway between Corsica and Monaco.
10:15 PM, aboard the luxury liner *La Belle Dame*.

Inside the casino, the cacophony of ringing machines and shouts of
elation and disappointment surrounded the young man who entered.  By
this time of night, the crowds of elderly American retirees had thinned
somewhat, and the serious gamblers were just getting settled at the
tables.

The young man paused to give the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket a tug
before striding confidently towards the center of the casino.  There, in
a lowered pit, were the highest stakes tables, where an average person’s
life savings could double or vanish altogether with a roll of the dice.

He stopped again to survey the table before him.  A slick-haired
croupier sat with a commanding view of the eight players’ spaces, four
of which were currently occupied.  The gamblers all carried a palpable
air of confidence.  Three men-- two European, one American-- and all
“high rollers.”  The last was a woman.

A hell of a woman.  Fiery red hair, twisted up elegantly, set off the
pale cast of her skin.  A simply tailored silver dress followed the
athletic lines of her figure and glittered under the crystal chandeliers
overhead.  The shoe was before her at the moment, as was the largest
pile of chips.

The croupier began the next hand, and started passing a long wooden
paddle in front of the players.  “Any bets, ladies and gentlemen?” he
asked in a strongly French-accented voice.  The men shook their heads.
“Any players, then?”

The young man drew up to the empty chair opposite the woman.  He slipped
a pair of 10,000 Franc chips on the table before him.

The woman smiled.  “We meet again,” she said, her voice a clear alto.

“Face to face this time,” replied the young man.

“As I recall, it was not my face you were interested in looking at on
the beach at Corsica.”

She dealt two hands of two cards, keeping one to herself.  The croupier
lifted the other with his paddle and deposited them in front of the
young man.

The young woman turned her cards over to show the ace of clubs and seven
of diamonds.  “Huit pour le banco,” announced the croupier.

The young man did likewise as she looked him over.  Despite his obvious
self-assurance, there was a definite reckless charm behind his sparkling
blue eyes.  His blond hair and tuxedo were immaculate.  His hand
revealed the queen of diamonds and the six of hearts.

“Seis.  Ma’m’selle wins.”

She smiled again.  “Unlucky again, I’m afraid.”

“You know what they say-- ‘Third time’s the charm’ and all that..”

“We shall see.”

A waitress appeared from nowhere, placing a flute of Cristal champagne
before him, then circled around and placed another before the young
woman.  She raised an eyebrow.

“Your doing, I assume, Mister...?”

“Quest.  Jonathan Quest.”

“Jessica.  Jessica Bannon.”

“Enchante, Jessica.”

Jessica placed a stack of 100,000 Franc chips down.  The croupier turned
to Quest.  “Suive,” Quest said, accepting, and noted how the casino
manager, watching silently, nodded in approval.

Jessica dealt the two hands.

“Carte,” said Quest.  Jessica drew another card from the shoe, and
slipped it to him.  The king of spades.

Jessica turned her cards over.  The four of clubs and the four of
spades.

“Huit pour le banco.”

Quest turned his over, with only one showing, the jack of hearts.  He
slipped it aside, revealing the nine of diamonds.

“Neuf.  Mam’selle loses.”

“It would seem my luck is changing,” said Quest.

Jessica rose.  “You know what they say-- ‘Lucky at cards...’ and all
that.”  She could feel Quest hot on her heels as she walked away.  She
stopped only when they’d left the casino behind and found their way to
the window-walled observation deck.

“You’re certainly persistent, Mister Quest.”

“One of my better qualities.”

“Then what would be one of your worse?” she teased.

Quest saw the dark figures flying towards the glass.  He’d been waiting
for this.

“Timing,” he answered as the glass exploded.  He grasped Jessica by the
shoulders and they both dove out of the room.

TO BE CONTINUED...

============================================================================

                                 Eric R. Umali
                       Jack of all trades, Master of none
                                 eumali@bu.edu

          http://www.fortunecity.com/tattooine/canaveral/37/index.htm

                     "Vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias."
                   ("A life lived in fear is a life half lived.")

============================================================================



"Property of A Lady"

Part 2

Quest shielded Jessica as they hit the floor and rolled out of immediate
danger.  He tumbled once more, and was on his feet a moment later, ready
to fight.

A first man stormed out of the observation deck, dressed in head-to-toe
black military gear and hefting a nasty looking Heckler & Koch assault
rifle, which was quickly trained on the young people.

"Freeze!" he shouted.  With a single fast turn, Quest closed the gap
between them.  His foot flashed out, knocking the gun out of the way
enough for his second kick to connect with the man's midsection.  The
soldier was doubled over in pain as Quest cracked the man's head against
his knee.

Before the soldier finished crumpling to the deck, another terrorist had
entered.  Quest took a step back, ready to face him, when a bright
blue-white light struck the man in the lead.  He shook like a rag doll
before joining his compatriot on the floor.

Quest turned to find Jessica on her feet, a taser glowing with charge in
her hand, and her dress' slit pulled higher, exposing several inches of
shapely thigh.

"Surprised, Mr. Quest?" she asked.

"Stunned," he answered dryly.

"I suggest we make our exit as soon as possible."

"Why's that?"

"Because," she said impatiently, "I do believe those men were after me."

"Then you can tell me why while we find out where the rest are."

"How do you know there'll more?"

"There are always more."  The pair began running towards the nearest
stairwell, intent on finding the ship's master-at-arms.  As they hit the
stairwell, Quest was out of patience.  "So what do they want you for?"
he asked from just above her.

He watched her hand reach towards the top of her bodice.  "Well, I must
admit they're quite impressive," Quest said with a lopsided smirk, "but
don't you think..."

"Very amusing, Mr. Quest, but they were looking for this."  Jessica
plucked a large, round sequin from her dress and held it to the light.
"A miniature optical data disk."

"Figures," he sighed.  "Best put that back.  Need any help?"

"No, thank you."

A minute later, they turned down the corridor leading towards the
security office, only to find it crowded with more black-suited
terrorists.  Immediately, they doubled back and headed out on deck.
Soon, they heard the sounds of pursuit and bolted for the open air.
Soon, they were under the stars, near the top of the conn tower.

"No way out, Mr. Quest."

"There's always a way out, my dear Miss Bannon."  Calmly, he reached
towards his shoes, sliding back the hollowed-out heels and producing a
few small flat cartridges, which he tossed into the hatch.  A second
later, there was a loud crack and a bright light, and acrid smoke began
to waft from the hatchway.

"That should keep them busy awhile," he said while unbuckling his
cummerbund.

"And what are you doing now?"

Quest grasped a heavy steel cable that secured a radar tower to a lower
deck.  He tossed his cummerbund over it and gestured towards Jessica.
"Our way out, mam'selle."

Reluctantly, she wrapped her arms around him tightly.  "Ready?" he
asked.  She nodded, and with a rush of air, they began their perilous
slide.  They hadn't gotten a few yards before the first bullets started
whizzing past them.  The deck was still far below, deserted, thanks to
the late hour.

"You're enjoying this far too much, Mr. Quest," Jessica quipped, her
calm betraying a familiarity with such unusual situations.

"Please-- Jonathan."  They hit the deck running.

"They've stopped shooting, Jonathan-- now what?"

"They're probably on their way here, that's all."

"Again, now what?" she insisted.

A hail of bullets that shattered the wooden planks nearby answered for
him.  A half dozen more of the terrorists stood between them and the
railing.  The tallest of them, clearly the leader, stepped forward as
his pencil-thin laser sight wavered between Jonathan and Jessica.

"All we want is the disk," the man grunted.  "Give it to us and we might
not have to kill you."

"Sorry, gentlemen," replied Quest, as he casually shook one arm.  He
felt the comforting weight fall into his palm.  "It's the property of a
lady, and I'm afraid if she doesn't feel like handing it over, well..."

With an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist, Quest tossed the last
grenade into the air.  There was an another flash, another bang, and
more smoke.  It enveloped most of the deck in less than a second.

Jonathan grabbed Jessica by the arm and started running.

"How long will this one stall them?!" she shouted.

"This one's different!" he yelled back.  After a second, they were at
the edge of the deck, overlooking the cruise liner's swimming pool.

Jessica's eyes went wide. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"This is no time to argue," he replied, before sweeping her bodily off
her feet and tossing her into the air.  Jessica sailed through the air,
shouting all the while, until she landed in the cool water with a
splash.  Jonathan followed a second later.

Under the water, Jonathan motioned to Jessica to stay under for several
seconds.  Finally, they could hold their breath no longer, and they
surfaced, standing a little more than waist deep.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

As he smoothed back his hair, Jonathan only motioned casually towards
the deck.  Jessica shook her head as she followed his fingers.  There,
sprawled on the wooden planks were a couple of ship's hands,
unconscious-- felled by the anesthetic gas.

Jonathan sprung lightly up onto the deck, then helped Jessica up as
well.  By the time they'd made it back to the higher deck, the ship's
security officers had already begun cleaning up the sleeping
terrorists.  Others were literally cleaning up-- sweeping up splinters
and covering up the bullet holes.

"Ah, here we are," said Jonathan.  Soon, a steward walked up, a pair of
towels slung over one shoulder and a tray with two champagne flutes in
hand.  Both of them dried up a bit and happily accepted the spirits.

"I have to admit, Jonathan, I'm very impressed.  But don't you think
it's about time to get back inside and warm up?"

"I'm confident we can take care of that ourselves."  His arm slipped
quickly around her waist and pulled her forward.

Jessica shook her head, and leaned in close.

"Oh, Jonathan..."

THE END.

============================================================================

                                 Eric R. Umali
                       Jack of all trades, Master of none
                                 eumali@bu.edu

          http://www.fortunecity.com/tattooine/canaveral/37/index.htm

                     "Vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias."
                   ("A life lived in fear is a life half lived.")

============================================================================
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