....and now, back to PENGUIN$

*********************

Rebel Stronghold - Toronto

Forrester's metallic shrimp colored '82 AMC Concord shuddered to life after
the third try.

"She doesn't like this cold much," Forrester said, running a hand lovingly
over the dashboard. "But she's a survivor, like me. She'll adapt."

"Goody," Christi, the picture of disgruntled womanhood, said from the
passenger seat.

"Now don't sulk, darlin'." Forrester grinned, flashing even white teeth. "No
need for jealousy."

Christi snorted and shook her head, but said nothing.

Edward's twin brother had exchanged the powder blue dress and stockings for
a pair of tight, faded, blue jeans and a black T-shirt he'd found in the
back seat of his car. With the cherry earrings gone and the black cloth
stretched across his muscular torso, the fountain of blonde hair suddenly
became both exotic and masculine in contrast to the black leather motorcycle
jacket he slid over the T-shirt. In a matter of minutes he'd gone from freak
to walking wet dream. At the moment, none of it mattered much to Christi,
who preferred to keep her eyes on the gun currently resting in his lap.

"Okay. Let's do this!" Forrester put the car into drive and they pulled out
of the parking area. Near the entrance, Christi could see members of the
team loading the bus, preparing to move out. Forrester's fingers curled
around the gun.

"Easy now darlin'," he said quietly.

As they rolled by, Mina stepped off the bus, wiping her hands on her jeans.
Catching sight of Christi in the car, she looked confused and mouthed the
words 'where are you going?'.

"Wave and smile darlin'," Forrester said through gritted teeth. He waved to
Mina, who ignored him pointedly and continued to stare at Christi who
shrugged and flapped her hand at the young mercenary in a poor imitation of
a wave that would have done Queen Elizabeth proud.

When they reached the front gates, Forrester put his foot to the floor,
screeching the tires as he turned the car onto the road. The Concord roared
down Cherry Street, leaving black smoke in its wake.

*************************

"What the hell?" Mina said out loud as she watched the car disappear from
view.

"Yo, girlfriend!" George snapped as he neared the bus, his arms full of
equipment. "I don't remember anything in the contract about you bein' paid
to stand around rubber-necking."

"But..." Mina pointed in the direction the car had gone.

"I don't wanna hear it!" George chewed furiously on his cigar and glared at
her.

"Yes sir," Mina sighed, not at all happy with this turn of events.

***********************

In the car, Forrester let out a sigh of relief and relaxed his hand on the
gun. "You're the navigator on this mission, darlin'," he said. "So
navigate."

"Keep going until we hit the overpass, then make a left," Christi mumbled.
She was busy looking over her shoulder at a large sack that rolled
perilously around in the backseat of the car, making odd noises. "What's in
that thing?" She asked.

"My specially patented penguin pacifier." Forrester grinned. "You'll love
it. Trust me."

Christi swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the road ahead of them.
They passed the abandoned Victory Mills and a luxury car dealership. In the
distance, Christi could see a long elegant yacht docked along the wharf.
Even further off, a freight ship headed out into Lake Ontario. Early morning
traffic was already starting to build as cars flew down the off-ramp from
the highway. To their right, a commuter train roared along, momentarily
keeping pace with the car before overtaking it.

"God you're a quiet one today, darlin'," Forrester said. "Tell me more about
penguins. I'm gonna need to know a few things."

"Now he wants to know." Christi shook her head and inhaled sharply. "Peter
and I spoon-fed you a ton of information, none of which, I might add, you
listened to."

"Well, I'm listening now," he replied calmly. "Don't give me the technical
stuff. All I need to know is what I'm gonna be up against."

After a moment of silence, during which Christi did the amazing and
swallowed her anger, she began to speak.

**********

In the parking garage of Cathedral Tower, far below the city streets and
underground shopping concourses, the lights flickered and died around
Security Officer Mike Dumass just as he'd realized that he'd somehow
managed to get himself completely lost in a lower, unused portion of the
garage.

"Shit," he said into the darkness, his voice echoing. He fumbled for his
flashlight and turned it on. A weak, dirty beam of light streamed from it,
barely illuminating his own feet and some floating particles of dust.

"Shit," he said again, with extra emphasis.

**********

"Well, it depends who you're up against," Christi said. "Though there are
roughly fifteen to eighteen different species of penguin, we're only dealing
with two: Aptendoytes forsteri and Pygoscelis adeliae."

"Whoa! Bless you!" Forrester said. "Need a tissue darlin'?"

"Very funny, wise guy." Christi smiled grimly. "Those were the latin names
for the Emperor Penguin and the Adelie Penguin, both of which are native to
Antarctica. The Emperor Penguins are the biggest of all the species. They're
big, strong and mean as all get out. Normally they stand about three and a
half feet tall and weigh up to ninety pounds, but the ones we're dealing
with are a bizarre mutant version with characteristics that you could almost
describe as preternatural. Hell, we're not even sure they actually are
penguins."

"What d'you mean by that?" Forrester looked confused, "A penguin is a
penguin right?"

"Wrong," Christi said. "These mutant Emperor Penguins started showing up
just before the war. There's no record anywhere in natural history that
these things ever existed. We have our theories on what caused this bizarre
strain of penguins."

"Toxic waste? Diet Coke? The stuff they put in Twinkies? What?" Forrester
wanted to know.

Christi smiled sweetly. "Alien DNA."

Forrester broke out into rough laughter. He slapped the steering wheel and
hooted.

"I'm serious," Christi said. "Completely serious. It's real Area 51 stuff
too. We think that there was some sort of secret government lab hidden away
in Antarctica near the site of a reported UFO landing back in '87. We've
never been able to prove it though."

The truth was too much for Forrester to handle. "Forget that," he said.
"What do I need to know about these Mutant Emperor Penguins?"

"First of all, don't get to close to them," Christi said. "There's a residue
on their skin that's exactly like the stuff that was on the infant purple
penguins. It's highly toxic, and I've only brought enough antidote for a
couple of regular shots. If you get completely slimed it may not be even
close to being enough to save you."

"Okay, and aside from that?"

"You got some big effing guns in the trunk Winston?"

"You know I do, darlin'." Forrester grinned widely.

"Good, because I've just realized that there's nothing I can tell you right
now that wouldn't take too much time to explain and too much preparation. If
you see one of those big suckers throw everything you've got at 'em from a
safe distance, otherwise, you're screwed." Christi sat back and fell silent.

"That's all you're gonna tell me?" Forrester brought the car to a shrieking
halt at a red light and turned to face her.

"Look, buttface," Christi snarled. "We just left a whole team of trained
professionals behind. They were the only ones who could have done this thing
right. What you're dragging us into amounts to no more than a suicide
mission."

Forrester shook his head and waved the gun. "No way. No team. We can do
this. Tell me about the smaller ones. Are they a threat as well?"

Christi sighed and folded her arms across her chest. "Of course they are!"
She said. "They're a mutant form of the Adelie Penguin who are literally the
grunts of the Penguin Army. There're probably a hundred of those for every
Emperor. They don't excrete any resin except in early infancy, but they're
vicious little fighters that hunt and attack in packs. They have incredible
night vision, finely tuned senses and sharp beaks and claws. You should see
the photos of the mangled bodies left behind after an attack. They've killed
hardened Penguin Hunters, and I'm talking guys who've seen the worst of Nam
and survived."

Forrester shook his head in disbelief.

***************

From somewhere behind him in the darkness, Dumass heard a scratching,
scurrying sound. It was the second time he'd heard the noise. Someone, or
something, was following him. He was sure of it now. Grasping his
billy-club, he inched his way forward a little faster while trying to shine
his feeble light on the walls where he was sure he'd find an arrow pointing
the way out.

Just as he thought he'd found a spot where the ground met a wall, a new
sound echoed through the underground chambers. It was an unintelligible
whisper, but a whisper none the less. A moment later, a giggle that sounded
vaguely helium-induced bounced off the walls. It had come from a different
direction. Dumass suddenly realized that he was being followed by more than
one person. His fear dissolved into frustrated anger.

"Okay that's just about enough!" He thundered into the darkness. "Try
anything and I'm gonna kick your asses from here to Buffalo! NOW GET LOST!"

Silence descended once again and with it Dumass' fear returned. Threatening
whoever was following him hadn't been the brightest plan. Druggies and
crazies never took well to that sort of thing. Next thing you know, one of
them could come out at him with a....Dumass' thoughts were interrupted as
something small hit his feet hard enough to send them out from under him. He
landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him. The flashlight hit the
ground near his head, the feeble light dying on impact leaving only the
smothering darkness.

The giggling started again. This time he could clearly hear both attackers.
Gingerly, Dumass sat up. He rolled to his side and struggled to push himself
up on his arms, his big belly preventing him from easily scrambling to his
feet. As he struggled, the whispers started again, but now the entire garage
seemed filled with the sound, causing Dumass to wonder if he'd grossly
underestimated the number of his attackers. The air around him was thick
with the sound. They were very close to him, but not attacking again. It was
possible that they'd somehow lost him in the darkness when his flashlight
was damaged.

He thought fleetingly of staying very still in the darkness to force his
assailants to assume he'd somehow escaped, but when his hand brushed by
something that felt amazingly like the flashlight the thought flew from his
mind. Groping around, he found it again and slid the switch up, praying for
light. Nothing happened.

Cursing softly, he shook the flashlight and tried the switch again. This
time, a tiny point of light appeared then died.  He sighed. The whispers
were now very close. At this range, he realized that the sound really was
unintelligible. The noise was more of a soft squawking sound, interspersed
with the sickening giggling. It was an unnatural sound. Something not of
this earth. The volume increased sharply, coming from all around him. He
began to bang on the end of the flashlight, sobbing.

Then, as if on command, the sound died. Dumass held himself very still as
the echoes faded. He stayed that way for what seemed to him like a very long
time, sobbing softly to himself. When the silence hung so heavily around him
that he was sure that there was no way another living thing could be nearby,
he lifted the flashlight to his fleshy lips, kissed it, mouthed a silent
prayer and pushed the switch up. Miraculously, light streamed from it and
for one glorious moment Dumass reveled in it, ignoring the fact that it had
illuminated his worst nightmare.

The penguin blinked glossy black eyes and tilted its head to one side in
silent appraisal. Dumass slowly played the light around him. It bounced
madly in his shaking hand.

He was completely surrounded.

A moment later, the flash light was once again knocked from his hands. His
feet were grabbed and he was roughly pulled across the dirty cement floor to
some unknown destination, his screams echoing throughout the chamber as he
was dragged deeper into the uncharted regions of the parking garage.

***********

"This is totally out of character for the average penguin of any species,
which is why we were so willing to believe that some external influence is
involved," Christi said. "Turn right at these lights and hang a left just
before the market."

"Got it boss," Forrester replied.

"Plus," she continued, "there's the fact that the numbers of these mutant
strains of penguin-kind increased by literally unnatural increments over the
past year."

"Unnatural?" Forrester laughed. "Maybe they're just a bunch of horny little
birds. They do look a little repressed, and you know what those types are
like when they lose their inhibitions."

"Get over yourself." Christi gave him a look of pure disgust.

"Geez, Darlin', lighten up." Forrester shook his head. "Okay. I'll bite.
Gimme the official theory on why there's so damn many of them."

"Okay," Christi said, "Here's the theory. We suspect that there might be one
female, an Empress, that is hatching these things."

"Just one?" Forrester asked incredulously.

"Yep," Christi smiled. "Just one. She's usually hidden away. Somewhere warm
and dark and cozy."

**************

As Dumass came to his senses, he was finally forced to realize that he was
not having a bad dream. This was a cold, hard, ice-water wakeup kind of
reality. He was still being dragged across a dirty cement floor in the
darkness, surrounded by squawking killer penguins.

Managing to lift his head slightly, he could see his feet and the backs of
the two penguins dragging him outlined against a warm red glow just ahead.
It seemed to be coming from a hole in the ground which was surrounded by a
penguin army of epic proportions. The sea of birds parted to allow his
captors to drag him towards the lip of the hole, and, with the help of
several more penguins, he was unceremoniously lifted off the ground, and
tossed in.

The ground rushed up to meet him and he slammed into it hard enough to bring
a blessed moment of silent blackness, plus a few dancing stars. When the
moment passed, he found himself face down in the dirt and sweating
profusely. He heard the muffled sound of a passing train and realized that
he was probably no longer in the parking garage, but in the subway tunnels.

All around him, he heard rustling and other soft noises. Trying to maintain
some semblance of calm he preoccupied himself with the job of slowly getting
his big body to its feet. Only when that task was complete did he lift his
head and force himself to deal with the next hard slap of reality.

It staggered him.

"Sweet mother of god," he whispered as his brain registered the scene before
him.

***************

"You'd know an Empress if you saw one, trust me," Christi snorted. "She's
the biggest and smartest penguin there is. The other penguins are fiercely
loyal to her. Like a real Empress, she has an advisor and attendants. It's
really something. She hatches a bunch of eggs and when the penguins are born
she knows right off which ones are Emperors and which ones are grunts."

"Lord almighty, she must be hatching those things night and day," Forrester
coughed.

"How soon they forget." Christi rolled her eyes. "Winston, use your head for
once! What happened back at the factory?"

"Darlin', are you trying to tell me they shoot their young?" Forrester
asked.

"Sort of. Emperor penguins can only be hatched, so they're thrown out into
the cold right away to finish completely developing their powers and
strength, but grunts are different. After they're born they're kept in the
rookery for anywhere from a few days to a few weeks and then they're brought
back before the Empress at which point her attendants use a ceremonial
object that packs the punch of a gun to force reproduction."

"Holeeee!" Forrester snorted. "Wham, bam thank you Opus. So darlin', who
knocks up the Empress? Just curious."

Christi shrugged. "Dunno. We have yet to discover anything about the actual
mating process. Everything we know is courtesy of a helicopter pilot who
crashed landed around the site of the UFO landing years ago. One of our
people found him stumbling through the snow, near death after long term
exposure to the elements. He'd accidentally wandered into the hidden nest
and was kept there by the Empress for months. He helped us learn a lot about
the penguin menace, but for some strange reason, he wouldn't talk about how
they mate."

"Maybe he just didn't know," Forrester reasoned.

"No." Christi shook her head absently, remembering back. "He knew, all
right. He just couldn't talk about it. In fact, he was really messed up
about it."

"Well darlin', don't fret," Forrester said matter-of-factly. "If it's that
darn disgustin' someone will put it up on the internet and charge people to
see it sooner or later. Then you'll know all about it."

Christi stared at him with no immediate response coming to mind.

"Make a right here, and then a left at the lights," she said after a moment.
"We'll park right out front. Something tells me we've wasted too much time
as it is."

***************

Dumass found himself in a room made sweltering hot by the heat emanating
from a multitude of bizarre glowing devices. He was staring at the biggest
mother of a penguin he'd ever seen in his life. It was dressed in some sort
of loud, multi-colored robe that looked suspiciously like a muumuu, and was
reclining on a large pile of cushions. A scattering of penguins maintained a
respectful distance nearby.

The immediate space around the cushions was littered with empty cartons of
Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough Ice Cream, old issues of the National Enquirer
and cigarette butts. Just in front of the sofa a wide screen TV, set to
mute, cast an eerie flickering light on a large straw nest in which rested
several medium sized eggs.

The thing on the cushions shifted its large, unwieldy body and then patted
the space it had created with one massive flipper.

"Huh?" Dumass asked, gawking. For a moment, he could have sworn he'd heard a
voice in his head. His brain had become an issue of concern over the last
few minutes. It was getting fuzzy and hard to put to any constructive use.
His fears were subsiding, and he was feeling oddly attracted to the thing on
the cushions. All things considered, that in particular worried him the
most, but fortunately he was now feeling far to good to dwell on it for very
long.

Suddenly his right foot took it upon itself to step forward, and was
immediately followed by his traitorous left. He idly watched this sequence
of events repeat itself until he was standing  before the Empress, who
trilled encouragingly. Everything was going to be okay. The Empress patted
the space before her again and Dumass knew what he had to do. He lowered
himself to the pillows and curled up beside her.

A large flipper patted his head and he sighed contentedly, turning his
attention to the TV.

"Cool," he said with as much enthusiasm as any human deep in the grip of
penguin mind-foo could manage. "Springer's on."

Continued in  Issue 9  of PENGUIN$...

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