"Welcome to 'Lion Tales', the Lawndale High TV newsmagazine," the voice on the television said, a series of surprisingly professional graphics appearing on the television screen. "And now, live from LHS-TV's Studio One - Tori Jericho."

The image of the attractive Fashion Club member, her butter-blonde hair falling down across her shoulders in thin, stylish ringlets, appeared on the TV screen. "Hi. I'm Tori Jericho, and I'm here to keep you up to date on Lawndale High news, sports events and other items of interest."

"The entire school is abuzz with the news that Doctor Kyle Armalin is back at Lawndale High, and twenty-five lucky students have been selected for the 'Special Projects in Sociology' seminar. The seminar, which runs for five weeks, is held once each year and is taught by a number of noted educators, including Dr. Armalin. Among the students selected for the seminar was junior class member Michael Jordan Mackenzie…"

"I've heard a lot about the freedom and the creativity that the Doctor allows in his classes, and the assignments are supposed to allow you to really find out what kind of person you are," Mack's image said, obviously filmed in the parking lot. "I'm looking forward to the experience."

"Hey, everybody," Jodie said tiredly, plopping down next to Jane and Daria at a cafeteria table. "What's up?"

"Not student IQ's - the Fashion Club's made it onto the airwaves," Jane smirked. "Don Henley's prophecies are coming true."

"I know - I had to give up doing both 'Lion Tales' and 'LHS Today' so I could take the seminar," Jodie sighed, referring to the daily news show broadcast live from the LHS campus. "Oh, well. Gotta have priorities - and I'll be booked up solid next year, so I have to take it now."

'Lion Tales' went on the air weekly on cable access, locally on UHF Channel 79 - and for the big events, on satellite uplink - another way Ms. Li constantly strove to show that Lawndale High (under her guiding hands) was no less than the best high school in the state of Texas. If nothing else, though, working on the two shows was considered by most universities - and more than a few actual television affiliates - as actual work experience in the field, and more than a few LHS students took advantage of that to begin careers directly out of school. There was actually a correspondent working for the British Sky News Service - a real up-and-comer through the ranks, who had gotten her start with two years of maintaining transmitter equipment and her senior year on-air at 'Lion Tales'.

"Besides - after a few weeks of her on the air, everyone'll beg you to go back!" Jane said. "Besides a pretty face, a great body, excellent clothes, and a natural on-air rapport - what else does she have? Hey - we all know she sucks!"

"Yes, we do - the question for now is what," Jodie smirked, gallows humor evident as she opened a large bag of chips - which made both Jane and Daria pull back sharply, instant horror and disgust on their faces. "If I'd known that they'd put 'Blond Ambition' on the screen instead of under the director's desk - what's wrong?"

"Something with your nose," Jane said pointedly. "What ARE those?"

"Jean-Claude Dupres' Hellfire-Roasted', soul-burning, Cajun-barbecue-flavored 'Bayou Boiler Chips', straight from Louisiana," Jodie all but announced, holding the bag out - making Jane's eyes water and Daria's glasses fog over. "They come in different flavors and seven levels of spiciness: tame, mild, medium, savory, fiery, volcano and 'HELL!"

"And you had to drag us into the pit of sulfur and brimstone right along with you," Jane muttered. "Man, one thing I can't stand is the really hot, funky food! Penny's into it - comes from being down in tortilla and banana-land all of these years … you practically can't breathe in a kitchen she's been cooking in."

"I LOVE the hot stuff - and Andrea got a few bags for me when her family went to visit their relatives near New Orleans a couple of weeks ago," Jodie smiled happily. "God, I love these chips - and you practically just can't get these things outside of the state!"

"And everybody breathes a sigh of relief," Daria shot back, wincing as she watched Jodie crunch down on a thick, dark, spice-coated chip and all but faint with pleasure. "You want a cigarette with those? A leather hood with zippers? How about a condom?"

"Hey, look - it's another Fashion Borg!" Jane said, noticing that Sandi was now on the television.

"Well, as President of the Fashion Club, it is important for me to expand my horizons and my perceptions of others," Sandi's image spoke. "I feel that by taking this seminar, I will be able to gain a better idea on how to help others in society by finding out how and why they do the things they do. This, in turn, will allow me to understand the way they dress themselves the way they do - and once we can understand that, we can help them to improve their manners and style of dress and therefore, help them improve their society. After all, if we all dress if a fashionable manner and act in a fashionable manner, we will all eventually begin to think and behave in a fashionable manner - just like everyone else. Once that happens, we'll have world peace."

"George Orwell is spinning in his grave like the last tornado in 'Twister', Daria said, turning her head from the television. "World domination through the use of natural fibers. '1984' - the Fashion Club way."

"And think of some of the great political books that could come out of a world ruled by the Fashion Club," Jodie said. "How about 'The Little Red Dress Book?"

"Let's not forget 'The Art of War-drobe," Daria shot back.

Jane caught another whiff of the Sarin-chips Jodie gulped down like a crazed ferret on a giant meatball, and drained an entire glass of soda - ice and all - before wiping at her eyes with a handful of pocket-size tissues. "Downwind, Jodie - please."

"I can't believe they let that idiot have air time, even on the boob tube," Daria said, changing the subject as a pinpoint of anger momentarily flashed in Jodie's eyes.

"That's just what you'd call it now," Jodie echoed, looking up and noticing how tight Tori's sweater fit across her chest. "Oh, yeah - the guys are definitely watching to find out about the next mandatory school fundraiser, and breaking news about Mr. DeMartino snogging Ms. Defoe in the bomb shelter 'til the blessed olive oil runs out..."

"Someone's been sipping at the sarcastic wine again," Jane spoke out, finishing off her burrito. "What's this about Ms. Defoe and DeMartino?"

"Didn't you hear? A couple of nights ago, I heard that some of the Glee Club kids were practicing late, and they saw them going into the nurse's office! They didn't get to see much because the security guards came and chased them out - but it looked like they were in the mood to play doctor…"

"I didn't think you gossiped, Jodie," Daria said, looking mildly disappointed at the second girl.

"I'm not - I've seen them together before," Jodie replied defensively. "Remember, I'm the so-called 'good kid'. They slip up around me all the time, because 'I won't do anything to hurt the proud reputation of 'good ol' Lawndale High!"

"Let me guess - bad time at Student Council last night?"

"The Fashion Club was there - slutting around like dogs in heat and getting the boys so worked up that they couldn't use their damned brains," came Jodie's morose response. "You should have seen Sandi - and the piece of cloth she almost wore…"

Daria and Jane's eyebrows rose. "It would be an insult to actual dresses to call what she wore that," Jodie hissed. "She must have shaved for a day in order to put that thing on. To make a long story short - the Fashion Club got their financial allotment increased by a third for next year. There's all sorts of worthwhile programs and other things that could really put that money to good use, but we're going to pay for those girls to play 'Who Wants To Dress Like A Teen 'Ho'?' Sometimes, I really wonder if it's all worth it…"

"Not giving in to your urge to beat Sandi and the rest of them into the middle of their senior year?" Jane laughed. "You can't do that, Jodie. Daria has dibs."

"Not all of them, Jane," Daria cut in. "Just Quinn. Remember - she's a red-haired step-child."

"I'd just like to give Sandi what she deserves," Jodie said, pulling crusts off her sandwich. "Sometimes, I have dreams where I'm a black panther and she's an impala or antelope or whatever, and I get to chase her down, lock my jaws around her neck and choke the hell out of her."

"You don't eat her?"

"No, I give her to the three J's. They're always there as wild dogs. Besides - that would make the dream a little funkier than I think I'd like."

*****

"Hey, hey, it's 'Jake the Snake'! How're you doing, schwing guy?"

Jake looked up from the guest spot at the radio console as Warren Bing and Stanley 'The Spatula Man' Jones slithered and bounced into the Z-93 FM studio booth, both carrying 'Burger Barn' bags of food and wearing hot neon-rainbow colored 'Mental In The Morning!' T-shirts that could probably be seen from orbit. "So where's that severely S-S-S-Smoking lady chef - get her in here so she can whip us up a plate of hot lovin'!"

"Boys - that's why I asked Ms. de la Ribas to come down at 11:15 instead of 11:00," Jake said calmly as the two took their places. "I wanted to make sure I'd get a chance to talk to you. Alone."

"Gonna tell us some 'Tales of the Snake?" Stanley laughed, pulling several onion rings from his bag and flipping them, one by one, into his mouth. "Man, I KNEW that you had to be getting some of that action - hell, with all of those 'friends' you have that pee sitting down, I knew you were getting some extra somewhere! Damn, she's hot, and I know that you've gotta be on that seven-year itch by now -!"

"He's just being a dick, Jake," Warren sighed, shaking his head. Unlike the terminally- and perpetually uncouth 'Spatula Man', 'Bing' and 'Warren' were two different personas. He and Jake had met through Jake's working with Lauriel - Warren was also an aspiring chef with a natural inclination towards game animals and foraged vegetables & grains. It was a talent that Lauriel was helping to develop after she had judged his contest-winning dish of stone-baked duckling in cornhusks with baby potatoes, wild onions and dressing made from a patch of prairie wheat-grains in a local cook-off.

Warren had also become a part of Jake's circle of drinking buddies. "Don't take it personally."

"I'm gonna ask that you turn it down for this interview, okay?" Jake asked. "Yes, she's a beautiful woman - but when you only focus on that, it makes her look like less of a professional and more like the 'Vanna White' of the cooking world. She's really looking to try and build her rep, so ixnay on the dragging tongues for this go-round, alright?"

"I'll go along - the lady's been a lot of help to me, and she's an all-around class act," Warren agreed. "Besides, after our last couple of contests, getting dinner from Lauriel's definitely going to put this one on the map. You hear that, round boy? We treat her like a lady."

Stanley looked up from his 'Bust-A-Gut Burger', wiping sauce and a wayward onion from his face, and gave the two men a stare of disbelief.

"You're gonna tell a bird not to fly? Can you tell a politician not to lie? Can you put a Ruttheimer near a bed with someone and say 'About getting some of that sex - you can't even try? Come on, guys - you're asking me to cut my tongue out and file it under 'You're screwed!' I can't do that, man - I'm a wacky DJ, and when I'm on the mike - the 'Spatula Man's' gotta FRY!"

"Yeah, I thought you'd say that," Jake smiled, sliding a set of pictures out of his briefcase and over to the still-feeding Stanley. "About that term - 'wacky DJ's - how'd you feel if all of your listeners found out that in your case, we need to add an 'H' into that word?"

Stanley spit his food out all over the table, and Warren fanned in front of his face in disgust. "And you'll be cleaning that up yourself."

"Oh, come on - I was in a 'Take Any Dare' contest! I won $20,000! It's not like I was in a bathroom stall in a grade school!"

"Doesn't matter, Stanley," Jake said, holding his fist out and moving it in an up-and-down fashion. "Behave like a good boy for the interview - or tomorrow, the 'National Intruder'll be calling you the 'WHACKY DJ!"

Standing up, Jake motioned to Warren. "Got a minute?"

"Let's hit the hallway," the slender DJ said, stifling an urge to burst out laughing. "Hey, Jake - can he keep those photos?"

"I've got more," Jake smirked, closing the door as they moved into the hallway. "Four…three… two…one…"

The two of them laughed so hard tears fell from their eyes. "I don't suppose you want him to know I got those from you?"

"Hell no! If he thinks someone else's the one who got something like that on him, he'll keep on doing the dumb stuff in front of ME!" was the reply. "Hey, Jake - seriously now, you're not getting any stupid feelings for Lauriel, are you?"

"As far as I'm concerned, only one woman's cuisine reigns supreme in my Kitchen Stadium," Jake told him, his tone firm without being overly serious. "I can't tell you how much Helen turns me on each and every time I see her. So what if there are two or three billion other women? They just can't compete."

"You are the original hopeless romantic," Warren sighed mockingly, "or you're the type of guy who knows the secret to a good, long, happy marriage."

"Which is…?"

"Once the husband is whipped - he STAYS whipped!" Warren laughed. "Now, you see, that also means the wife's got to pay attention to her man, and know when and just how much of 'his medicine' that he needs to keep from wandering off…"

"I have got to tell somebody about what Helen did the other night," Jake said, leaning against a wall. "Low lights and incense. More candles than a Catholic mass. Al Green on in the background, and Helen in this little red number that she must've put on with a spray bottle."

"Brother Jake is in the house!" Warren barked, his fist held skyward in a 'Black Power!' gesture. "That's right - your woman's got to know how to sell those goods!"

"You're damn straight," Jake said, doing his best 'Isaac Hayes' impression as he and Warren did a 'high five'. "Man, I am not about to lose a woman like Helen for anybody! Let the idiots around here think whatever they want about me and Lauriel, but I know that I hit the lottery, the jackpot and everything else that pays off when I got my woman!"

"So, Jake… if you're not doing anything with Lauriel… well, she listens to you, so, could you hook me up?"

"Hey, Warren - I like you and everything, but you'd be working without a net!" Jake said, shrugging his shoulders. "She'd burn through you in under a week!"

"Well, that's how I want to go - 'Death… by 'bunga-bunga!"

"Too late - I set her up with Anthony."

"Tony? Man, that's not fair - he's been getting it all over town! You know he's been tapping that sweet little arts teacher he works with for years, and I wouldn't be surprised to find he's been serving that Asian principal his noodle up al dente! He's like a dog, brother man, and somebody let him OUT!"

"Ease up, Warren - I can hook you up with Helen's assistant!" Jake said, playfully punching him in the arm. "Marianne's been separated for about three months now, and she's a little lonely -"

"Lonely enough to go out with a 'wacky DJ?"

"Yeah, and if you're lucky, she'll keep the 'H' out of there!"

"What about the letter 'H?" asked Lauriel, coming out of the elevator on the other side of the hall. "You're doing alphabet jokes?"

"No - he just wants a date," Jake said, standing up straight as Lauriel came over. "I told him I'd see what I could do."

"Oh, I see," Lauriel said, her voice holding a pleasant laugh. "So, Jacob - does that mean you're my social secretary now?"

"Lauriel, I didn't mean to be offensive, or to insult you-"

"Oh, you're not," she said, turning to Warren with a smile that made him warm and weak inside. "If you think that Warren's a nice man, then maybe I should consider making an evening of it with him sometime."

She turned, her hair flowing like water across her shoulders as she began down the hall. "Maybe you should set something up, Jacob."

The two men shook their heads as they took a long gaze at the departing woman, then turned back to one another.

"Jake Morgendorffer - you are either the most faithful husband since Joseph the carpenter, or the single biggest fool in recorded history."

"Yes, I am," he agreed. "And I wouldn't change it for anything."

*****

Kyle finished his root beer, and continued to speak to the class.

"In each seminar, we focus on a different concept. For this class - and in order to honor all of those who were annoyed about the failure of this world to go screaming into the first ring of Hell thanks to the Y2K bug - "

Kyle tossed Daria a quick glance. " - Complete with the CGI footage of billions getting it in the neck in every imaginable fashion except old age - our focus will be on 'human engineering'. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, think of it as the sole reason that Marina Sirtis has been allowed to appear on American television… as though that's a gift."

"And Trekkies across the land plan the Doctor's slow and painful death." Daria smirked. "He has dared to speak ill of a female Trek character with large breasts."

"Since we will only have these five weeks together, let's cut to the chase and get to the primary project for this class," he continued. "Besides the ten exercises which you'll have at various times during the duration, you'll also have a class project - a group exercise which will compose seventy percent of your total grade."

Kyle went to the covered blackboard, and lifted the extended drop-down maps that covered it. "One subject which has consistently held the interest of everyone, from military scientists to TV sitcom writers, is the closed/isolated social construct - a group of individuals who, for whatever reason, have no choice but to live with one another and share experience and existence for an indefinite period of time. It's a subject that we've seen in many forms, from 'The Lord of the Flies', to 'Gilligan's island' to 'Star Trek: Voyager' - to the television equivalent of breaking open the Seventh Seal which you all know as 'Survivor'. Because of this, all of you should not only be somewhat familiar with the concept, but have some ideas on what's needed to make such a group functional and, perhaps, even effective and productive in some fashion."

"I've suddenly got a REALLY bad feeling about this," Daria said, her eyes suddenly going wide.

"Roger that, Ghost Two," Jane echoed, eyes equally wide. "We're gonna end up right dead smack in the hot seat."

"One form of the closed/isolated social construct usually studied - and used quite often in literature and entertainment - is the 'lifepod' construct," the teacher continued. "This is a group of diverse individuals brought together for the purpose of saving them from an event capable of destroying life on a massive scale and eradicating civilization itself, with the premise that they will be used as 'seed stock' to continue the species and the representative culture that it came from. Think of a 'time capsule', but with people."

"Oh, great," Daria softly spat out. "Let's save some of the citizens of Lawndale. Man doesn't really need a future that badly."

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your project - the 'Department Omega' extended scenario," Dr. Armalin announced. "You'll be broken up into groups in order to design a shelter to place a number of people within in order to let them survive a period of… as Robert Heinlein so quaintly put it, 'cultural disorder.' You'll design all facets of the shelter - basic design elements and construction, supply and maintenance, armaments, transport and whatever else you deem necessary to the shelter. You'll also have to worry about things such as financing the project, mission security, post-containment operations, and so on. During the first two weeks of the project, you'll undergo the construction phase of your shelter - and trust me when I say that I'll throw roadblocks in your way. Sometime during the third week, you'll send your assigned 'seeds' into containment, where they will stay for x number of days in order to ride out 'The Event."

"Excuse me, Mr. Armalin," Mack said. "You said 'financing the project.' Are we pretending to be government agents for this project?"

"No, Mr. Mackenzie - but points for picking out sticky areas."

"All right, Mack Daddy-"

"Mr. Thomphson," Kyle said, dark anger in his eyes as he moved towards Kevin like the coming of the Rapture. "That gentleman's name is Michael Mackenzie. You will address him as Mr. Mackenzie, Mackenzie, Michael, or Mack, as I understand some of his friends call him that. 'Mack Daddy' is not his name. It is a derogatory term that not only makes him uncomfortable, but also reinforces stereotypes. Don't use it again."

"Hey, doc, I was just -"

"Getting on my nerves," the angry teacher said. "Your choice for punishment, Thomphson. Ms. Barch or me."

Daria was somewhat amazed - and amused - by the way the color drained out of Kevin's complexion. "Doc, I said I was sorry -"

"Choose."

"Mr. Armalin - I mean, Dr. Armalin, it's okay, he doesn't mean anything by it - " Mack began, but Kyle cut him off.

"Choose, Mr. Thomphson. Ms. Barch or me."

Kevin's head drooped. "You, doc."

"I thought so, " the teacher said. "You're out of that uniform for the rest of the day. Go to the restroom and peel it off - and if you come back naked, I'll let Barch have you for an… independent study."

Kevin's expression as he stood and walked to the door made him look like a lost puppy. "Sorry, Mack," he said, stopping for a moment at the door.

"Oh, poor Kevvie!" Brittany Taylor whined. "Doctor, he didn't mean to be rude to Michael-"

"Which makes it worse, Miss Taylor," Kyle concluded. "While Mr. Thomphson gets into civilian attire, we'll divide the class up into three groups. Now, only six persons will be allowed into your shelter, so you have to make some hard choices and really pay attention to who the others in your group are. You'll have to choose your 'seeds' on the basis of current and perceived future abilities and worth, NOT personality OR popularity - and any shelter that looks like it's holding the cast of an Aaron Spelling teen drama will earn that group an automatic 'F' for the course."

"I knew that we'd end up on the 'H.M.S. Stupid Class Project," Daria growled as Jodie and Jane leaned in close. "Thanks a lot, Jane."

"Hey, it could be worse," Jodie told her, "at least it's somewhat interesting, and it looks like we'll be able to do more than parrot back answers to questions. Don't tell me that you haven't wanted an assignment like this, Daria. Someone's finally allowing us to think for ourselves."

"I wonder if they'll let me bring an easel," Jane mused, scribbling on a piece of paper. "Definitely need to bring extra running shoes; solar-powered battery charger and extra batteries for my MP3 player…"

"What are you doing?"

"Hey, I figure that I'm good at long-distance running, so I'd make a good pathfinder or long-range scout, and I know how to take care of kids, so I could be a midwife or nanny," Jane said, not noticing how Daria looked at her - at first. "Oh, come on! You've never wanted to be in something like 'Planet Earth' or 'Ark II?"

"What's 'Ark II?"

"A sci-fi show on CBS back in the '70's - Mom and Dad bought a Beta deck so they could tape it every Saturday morning. It was like 'Damnation Alley,' but for kids', Jane told Jodie. "No nuclear war, cool explosions or armored man-eating cockroaches, but they did have a cooler vehicle, laser cannons and a jetpack to fly around with. Hey, besides Mack and Kevin, what other guys in here are jocks?"

"Why would you want to know that?" Daria asked pointedly, more than a little annoyed at how eagerly Jane was jumping into this.

"Well, I've always been a big fan of sci-fi movies like this, and I want to know who'll I'll probably be paired up with. An athlete, intelligent, some artistic talent, likes kids and being outdoors, wants to have a close family -"

"What are you writing out, Jane?" Mack asked, craning over Jodie to get a look at her list.

"Her wish list for the man of her dreams," Daria blurted out, earning a harsh look from Jane as Mack looked in closer.

"Jamie's a jock, too, and he's into photography - I guess that counts as art," Mack said. "Hey, Daria - aren't you a camera hound, too?"

"I can open a canister of film without it exploding."

"Hey, Daria - film can explode if you try to take it out of the little cans?" Kevin asked, his eyes going wide. "Really?"

"Yes, Kevin, it's true - but you can disarm it by putting it in your microwave for five minutes. Stay close by - you'll need to watch it."

"You are a sick little bear cub, Morgendorffer," Jane chirped. "Jamie's the only other athlete in here, and Mack's taken - he &Jodie'll have the responsibility of making sure black people exist after the war."

"You'd better believe it," Jodie laughed, squeezing Mack's hand into her own. "Nobody's getting hold of you for a long time - in or out of a fallout shelter."

"Because of the class size, there will be nine people in Group Three," Dr. Armalin's voice rang out, catching Daria's attention. "The following people are in Group Three: Lane, Landon, Mackenzie, Griffin, Hecuba-Thorne, Taylor, Morgendorffer, Thomphson and Dewitt-Clinton."

"Daria, isn't Ted into martial arts?"

"I think so, Mack - I know he knows how to fence," Daria replied. "Looking at him as breeder material, Jane?"

"Say, Daria," Jane shot back, a smirk growing across her face, "I caught the order in which he read those names off. Doesn't that make you 'Seven of Nine?' Trent'll just love seeing you in that catsuit and heels. Make sure you wear the brown one."

"Ha, ha. How would your ass feel about assimilating my boot?"

"Dr. Armalin, " Jodie asked, raising her hand, "we're supposed to build this thing because of some disaster. What kind of disaster occurred, sir?"

"Use your imagination, Miss Landon," the doctor quipped. "Who knows what could have happened? Perhaps there was a civil war instigated by combined elements of militia groups and breakaway elements of the military… maybe a small asteroid hit the Earth a la 'Deep Impact."

He smiled as he tossed a glance in Daria's direction. "Maybe Miss Morgendorffer's dreams for mankind became reality… or, perhaps, she simply unleashed her inner Vogon, and read some poetry at the planet."

Daria felt her face flushing crimson over scarlet as waves of laughter from the class poured over her. "You've got the rest of the period to work on the project," Dr. Armalin said, holding up a folder from a stack on his desk. "Here's your project folder with the necessary information for the project simulation. If any of you are familiar with role-playing games, some of this information will seem very familiar, and you'll probably have an easier time in the start-up and development stages. Everyone should pick up one of these folders, and then you should get together with your group to start your planning. I recommend that you develop your characters first; that'll tell you the type of talents and resources you'll have to work with - but even more importantly, it'll tell you what you don't have, what you need and what goals you should focus on."

"Has anyone ever really gone overboard with their project - I mean, in terms of doing extra stuff?" Jane asked, drawing a very curious look from Daria as she spoke.

"Oh, yes," Kyle told her. "The third time I taught the seminar was at a junior college in central Illinois - you've probably never heard of it. One group actually got permission to use a lounge area - it was reserved for the school's role-playing game club - and actually redid it to serve as the shelter!"

"So, what did they do?" Jodie asked.

"Well, they took it seriously. They had brought MRE's - that's 'Meals, Ready to Eat', or the meals that American troops take into the field to eat - in as their primary food source. For the occasional change in their diets, the group jury-rigged up a decent hydroponics garden for fresh vegetables and fruits, and they also worked with some engineering students and the College of Life Sciences to come up with a self-contained environmental-control system that tied into the hydroponics garden to purify the air in the shelter. Did I mention that the students set up the room so that it was environmentally separate from the rest of the college?"

"You let them do all of that?" Ted asked, his eyes wide.

"I didn't know what they had done until it was all over," Kyle said. "If you go over the top and it works, people don't mention the outrageous lengths you've gone to as such. If you succeed, you're 'incredibly motivated and able to overcome the odds through unconventional thinking."

"See, Daria?" Jane whispered, leaning in towards her. "There's hope for you yet!"

"Rah, rah. Go, normalcy."

"You know, if I thought it would do any good, I'd tell you that you need to go off to a place like New Orleans or Fire Island and get laid 'Blue Lagoon'-style, with some six-foot-six dark-haired beach god and island drums beating in the background for a week or two," Jane retorted. "If I thought it would loosen you up, I'd say 'Go Cinemax!' and tell you to go for the tiny platinum-blonde beach bunny with the huge blue moon-eyes and the 36C cup - hell, I'd have sex with you if I thought it would do any good!"

"Yeah, but you'd steal cab fare out of my purse while I was asleep, and a couple of months later, I'd see how you took what happened and made it into an art show just so you could get a grant from the NEA."

"Would the two of you cut it out?" Jodie whispered as she leaned in towards them. "Charles heard what you said, and I swear he nearly passed out and snapped his desk in half - from the bottom, if you get my meaning!"

Daria and Jane shared a shudder, and turned back to the front of the room.

"They also had a small magnetically powered generator, electronic equipment, a video-game console and a television/VCR/DVD combo unit for entertainment - you name it, these kids either had it or came up with logical reasons why they couldn't," Kyle continued. "Their environmental system also had a flash-distillery and a molecular-level repurification system to provide them with clean water and fuel from their own waste products! They designed a micro-shower that was quite effective, used a magnetic stove - and put together one SERIOUS electrical-field array as a security system!"

"Not bad," Upchuck said, only marginally impressed as he scribbled in a notebook, but Sandi raised her hand.

"Dr. Armalin - did they really do all of that, or are you just stretching the truth to get us to work harder?"

"Miss Griffin - in the 1980's, two engineering students at an East Coast university whose name escapes me at the moment collected or surmised information on atomic weapons development, then used that data to construct an actual working device," Kyle told the young woman, whose eyes went wide as he spoke. "All those two students needed was plastic explosives, some weapons-grade radioactive material, and they would have had a functional nuclear device capable of leveling a city... and they got their information off the Internet and through the Freedom of Information Act. If you're serious about a project and are willing to put in the work - like they did - you can do anything."

Kyle happened to glance over at Upchuck as he spoke, and for a moment, he saw a look in the boy's eyes that gave him pause. He recognized that look… no.

"And then, to prove that it wasn't just smoke-and-mirrors, the lifepod group sealed themselves in for a full school week. The administration wasn't happy with that - they thought that it was just for show - but for five full days, no one could have or did get into that room with anything short of military action. I didn't give that group 'A's - they TOOK their grades."

"That must have been something to see," Jodie said. "Do we have to do something like that?"

"Don't worry - I don't expect you guys to be THAT over the top. I do, however, expect you to give me your best efforts possible."

Dr. Armalin picked up his briefcase and started for the door when Brittany squeaked, "Doctor Armalin, you're not leaving us here alone, are you?"

"You're almost an adult, Miss Taylor," he replied, his gaze sweeping across the class. "You all are. It really doesn't say much for me or any of you if I need to sit and watch over you while you work on an assignment that all of you should be quite capable of at least beginning without any help. It also doesn't say much about all of you if you feel that you should coop yourselves up in a classroom to work on this - unless, of course, you feel that you can work more effectively in a classroom environment. I'll see you all in class tomorrow. Good day, Miss Taylor."

"So, that means that you ARE leaving us here alone?"

*****

About two minutes earlier…

"Drink, Anthony?"

"It's 12:45, Angela, and I teach history in a high school," Anthony DeMartino said, looking out the window of the somewhat comfortable office as Principal Angela Li turned the dials on her wall safe and brought out a bottle of amber-colored liquor. "I could have used a drink three hours ago."

"Indeed," the stately Asian woman said, bringing out two crystal tumblers and returning to her desk. "I wanted to ask you for two reasons. First - to join me for a celebratory draught, to celebrate your incredible good fortune."

"Pardon?"

"A letter arrived for you today, from the superintendent of the district," Angela said, pouring a generous dollop of Glenmorangie single-malt scotch into a tumbler and extending it to him before pouring herself one as well. "Mr. DeMartino - Anthony - it gives me great pleasure to inform you that you are now the new Assistant Principal of Lawndale High School."

"AAAAAAAAAUUUGGGHHHH!"

"If it wasn't for the fact that I knew Dr. Armalin had both Thomphson and Taylor in the seminar, I might be concerned by that," Angela said, after the sound of the Doctor's scream had passed.

"If it wasn't for those two being in there right now - I'd say the universe doesn't want me to take this job," Anthony agreed, "assuming I accept. I'm not really all that interested in administration, Angela, MBA to the contrary. I like dealing with the kids. Most of them. I'm not interested in giving up teaching."

"You won't have to, but I'm afraid that you will lose teaching hours regardless," Angela retorted. "Your additional duties will leave no other option than cutting back on some of your classes. I've been thinking of asking the Doctor if he'd be interested in taking over those classes, and coming aboard full-time."

"Angela, I only ask that you tell me in advance when you're planning to have that conversation - so I can be out of the building," Anthony laughed. "You've tried this before. Accept that the kid's not going to do this full-time and keep driving. Back to me, though - what else is in it for me?"

"A fifteen-percent increase in salary - apparently, they passed a special appropriations measure to finance your new position - and an office of your own, as well as a personal parking space and access codes for the schools' tactical syst- I mean, 'security systems'."

Placing her tumbler down on the desktop, Angela came over and faced down the man who stood a good head over her. "Which brings us to number two. I would prefer to not see my new assistant principal 'playing doctor' with my arts and crafts instructor after hours in the nurses' office again. We have cameras in there, too."

"You never surprise me, Angela."

"Remember that," she said, opening her desk and tossing him three tiny digital videotapes. "Those will come out of your salary. The footage from the overhead camera shot is especially… energetic."

"Thank you," he said, sliding the tapes into his pocket and raising his glass in a toast. "I can promise you, as your new Assistant Principal, that I'll never do anything like that in the nurses' office again."

"Agreed," Angela echoed, raising her glass as well. "That's what your new office is for."

They finished their drinks. "Say, I don't understand something - how the hell did Thomphson and Taylor get into that seminar anyway? I thought it was an advanced study for the better students?"

"Miss Taylor actually scored high enough in several areas to be considered for this," Angela told him, "and as for Mr. Thomphson… he needed something extra for his transcript besides 'A's in Phys Ed. Dr. Armalin understands that through this opportunity, the boy is to bring honor, and glory, to Lawndale High."

"So you told Kyle he could really screw with his mind - as long as the boy gets a 'C' in the class."

"And if he gets a 'B' - honestly - the Doctor gets a $10,000 bonus at the end of the school year."

"And if Thomphson gets an 'A'?"

"If THAT happens - the good Doctor will be spending a week at the Playboy Manor," Angela replied. "Hugh owes me a few favors…"

*****

"Hey, Andrea - got any more of those chips?"

"I should just hijack you down there so you can get your own," Andrea Hecuba-Thorne spoke up, pulling a bag of 'Bayou Boiler Chips' from her knapsack. "I've only got six of seven bags left -"

"Twenty bucks."

"I'd like to keep a few - there's a 'Fangs for the Memories' vampire-flick marathon on 'Sci-Fi' this weekend, and I was going to -"

"Forty."

"Jodie - you can't get these outside of Louisiana, and my cousins are jerks who always forget to mail me chips even when I pay them up front -"

"Fifty."

"Come over to my house about eight. I have to work this afternoon."

The two girls started over to the cafeteria table where the other members of their group had gathered. "Hey, are those hot chips?" Sandi asked, the lone person not to draw back as Jodie pulled open her 'bag o' crunchy Hell-farts', as Jane had taken to calling the fiery, fragrant chips - but not in the presence of Jodie. "Can I have some?"

"NO," Andrea said, but Jodie let a thin, evil smile cross her face.

"Why, sure, Sandi," Jodie said, "if you really think you can handle one. They are really hot, and I don't want you-"

"One? ONE! I was eating mashed jalapenos instead of pablum as a baby!" Sandi huffed, taking SERIOUS offense at the implication that SHE couldn't do anything that Jodie could do - that is, if she really wanted to… "I can eat those bland things and probably not notice it!"

"Okay," Jodie said, picking out an especially large and spice-coated chip. "Because I'm a nice person -"

"Jodie - I got those for you, and I don't think that she'd like it-"

"Oh, don't be a baby, Andrea. After all, she probably won't even notice that she even ate it -"

"GIMME THAT!" Sandi barked, swiping the chip, chomping down and sending it into oblivion before Andrea could rise from her seat. "You see? That's not even remotely as hot as -"

With Jodie's recent foray into the 'burn your ass-hairs off' section of the EM spectrum (not to mention snack aisle), Jane had taken to getting gallon-size pitchers of ice water placed at any table Jodie was spending any time at. Sandi was fortunate in that Jane had thought to get three pitchers for the group; without delay, a single repentant glance or word of impetuous denial, Sandi grabbed at the first pitcher and emptied it without a drop being spilled. As the table's occupants watched with a mixture of mirth and amazement, Sandi finished the first pitcher and downed two-thirds of the second pitcher's contents before putting the container down and sitting back in her seat. She was sweating profusely, and her complexion was now the bright-red shade of a really bad sunburn.

Jodie looked over at a slightly reticent Sandi, and devoured a chip while giving the girl a condescending look of nuclear proportions. "Amateur."

"Don't worry - all that water should dilute it," Andrea said, her Goth-style makeup adding a slight chill to her interestingly attractive facial features - a touch androgynous, if one looked very closely. I hope, she also thought to herself. "Before we start up, there's something you all should know. Upchuck is going to try and steal Ted away for the group he's in."

Jodie and Sandi both spun around from their spots at the cafeteria table the nine students of Group Three sat at to look across the room at Group One, where Upchuck sat. For his part, Upchuck ('Little Charles' to a select few, including one Stacy 'Nibblet' Rowe - and it would have stunned EVERYONE to know that they had been dating for the past year) glanced over at them in return, and turned back to his conversation with his group…

"How do you know that, Andrea?" Jodie asked.

"Yeah? I don't want to work with him - he's entirely too rude and disrespectful to the women around here!" Ted Dewitt-Clinton chirped. "Someone needs to take him to a meeting of the 'Promise Keepers' and show him how real men interact with the fairer sex!"

Andrea looked at Ted the way she'd look at roadkill, then continued after a moment of internal dissention - which didn't go unnoticed. "I heard him talking with that Rowe girl, Griffin," Andrea directed towards Sandi. "Upchuck said that he's got some stuff about the Doctor's other classes and the way he grades, so they're going to - I think he said, 'do an end run around the Doctor'. Something about backstops, backstairs. I don't know."

Ted's ears pricked up like a cat that's just heard a mouse squeak. "Backstep?" he asked, his eyes almost shining.

"Yeah, that's what he said -"

Ted grabbed his books and darted off towards Upchuck's table - to the surprise of everyone save Andrea. "I guess that's something important to him," Andrea surmised.

"Okay, I guess we're down to eight now," Jodie sighed, watching as Upchuck spoke to an excited Ted and then moved over to make room for him at the table. "So, we're supposed to use these conversion tables to determine what talents we have, yada, yada, yada. First things first. We need to decide where we'll place the shelter."

"Wrong, Jodie, "Sandi interrupted. "First, we should nominate Brittany as our chief of security. I remember how she handled her business out in the woods, and she can probably kick anybody's ass here. Besides, she can cut Kevin off if he tells anybody where we're putting the shelter."

Jodie opened her mouth as if to speak, but then nodded. "Not bad, Sandi. Anybody else got any nominations for security chief?"

"I was thinking of Mack," Jane said, getting a strange look from Daria. "His dad's a corporate security expert, so he probably knows all about how you'd put together security for a place like this."

"Use them both," Sandi said. "They should be able to keep Kevin from opening his mouth. We also need to think about buying materials through 'dummy' companies - that way, it'll be harder to trace things back to the project."

Jodie nodded as she took out her Dictaphone and turned it on. "Good idea, Sandi. I think we need to begin by cordoning off the entire area for a five-mile area, and putting all sorts of monitors out to watch out for people. Brittany, what do we want out there?"

"Well, we'll have a combination of active and passive sensors, Jodie," Brittany said, sipping a diet soda. "We start with a network of ultrasensitive bioscanners that'll detect the electromagnetic signal put out by the human heart and brain about the area, as well as motion detectors, thermal-imaging panoramic video cameras, weight-specific vibration detectors set for human-norm weight levels and low-power UV laser-grids - if something breaks a beam, we'll know they're there AND they can't see the beam without special equipment! You'll also need to put scent-detectors on the laser-grid emitters - people try to use mirrors to defeat the beams, but if we cue the scent-detectors to track for human scents OR just for soap, you'll get them as soon as they get close!"

People started to ease themselves away from Brittany.

"We'll go ahead and electrify the fences - and run armed patrols along the perimeter every thirty minutes, but stagger the start of each period so that any intruder can't figure out any pattern to patrol times," the bubbly cheerleader continued. "We should also just go ahead and use dogs, because they'll catch any bad guys that manage to defeat our tech and they'll have better instincts on if something's wrong on the perimeter! One more thing - we need to have a security strike unit on three-minute standby at all times in case of hostile incursion or in case someone on staff breaks containment during the construction phase! They'll need to be heavily armed, and I recommend that they act in two groups: a unit in helicopters to quickly locate and pin the intruders down, and a fast-moving ground unit in Humvees to sanitize the area!"

The entire table went dead silent. "What-?" Brittany asked, taking another sip of soda.

"Nothing at all, Brittany," Jodie said. "You work specifically on our security needs - and tone it down, this isn't 'Stallion's Gate' we're working on."

"Stallion's Gate?" Mack asked, curious.

"Place in New Mexico - that's where the government ran 'Project Quantum Leap' from," Jane yawned.

"If we're going to do this the way Dr. Armalin says," Andrea spoke up, "then that's exactly what we should do - just go ahead and assume that we're a government operation. If it's not straight out military, then it's almost definitely a black project."

'One, what's race got to do with this? Two, he said that we're not government agents!"

"A 'black' project is a project that doesn't exist as far as the government is concerned, Sandi," Brittany said, anger flashing through her pretty features. "It doesn't have anything to do with race - and you shouldn't be bigoted. It's wrong, and you should apologize to Mack and Jodie. Second - in case you had REALLY been paying attention in class, he said we're not government agents, but that the project's called 'Department Omega'. We're a government agency."

"That's cutting it pretty thin, Taylor," Mack said, giving her an extra-warm smile for the way she just killed two birds with one stone - he saw how Jodie had turned towards Sandi, and was surprised that she hadn't snapped and flattened the girl long before. The debacle of Linda Griffin's buying her daughter a Student Council seat and the resulting blowup the two had in the 'Class Land' group house (may that abortion be buried and forever forgotten) had stoked Jodie's underlying anger towards Sandi like a furnace at a German death-camp…

"His rules," Brittany smiled back, feeling a flush of warmth spread across her face. Mack really did have such a perfect smile, when he had reason to have one. You'd think that with Jodie as his girl, he'd smile more often - but then, she'd never seen Jodie treat Mack the way he did her… you know, like someone you really cared about like that… And you know, the Kevin thing's getting a bit worn to the bone, and oh, look at Michael's shoulders, and his eyes, and his hands are just SO big - Oops! Back to reality, girl!

"She's right," Andrea allowed, noticing Brittany's split-second rutting over Mack and letting it pass. "When you look at what we're supposed to do, it just makes sense that we're 'the Man'."

"Looks like you're the security chief at Stallion's Gate after all, " Jane said, tossing a glance in Brittany's direction. Maybe she'll do after all…

"Cool!" Brittany piped up. "I don't have to wear red, do I? Bad things happen to security people who wear red, and I'm not going to be Security Guard 'Kenny' on the 'U.S.S. Kevorkian!"

Daria looked at the bubbly blonde cheerleader - and stunned didn't begin to describe how she felt. Brittany had just made a joke. A good one. A sarcastic one. What was going on? Speaking of which - when did Jane become a closet sci-fi fanboy? When did Mack start getting attention from all the girls? How did I miss that?

"I'm going to need some help," Brittany said, "so can I get at least one other person to help out?"

"I don't mind, Brittany," Jane said, and ignored the stare Daria gave her. "I can do that-"

"Hold on - I can do security stuff, too, " Mack cut in. "I'm stronger than you, and I can outrun you!"

"You might be able to run faster, but not farther than me, " she shot back.

"Oh, I see - so endurance is what you're looking for…"

Jane rolled her eyes, and Jodie pulled at Mack's ear to get him to sit down. "Horn dog," she smiled. "Save it for after the bomb. Daria, you're good at history and English - maybe you should be in charge of what literature, historical and educational materials we take into the shelter. I also think you'd work out really well as our backstop - you know, checking to see if there's anything we've missed. You've probably the most well-read of us all, so -"

"I'll take that job," Andrea sounded off, beginning to write in her notebook. "I've probably seen a few books that you guys haven't seen."

"How can you be so sure of that, Miss-Goth-Is-Good?" Sandi asked. "At least we know that Quinn's cousin is always reading because she doesn't date, but aren't you always doing that spooky stuff?"

Andrea sighed, then cracked her knuckles. "Okay - test time. Who's read 'The Prince?"

Daria, Jodie and Brittany raised their hands, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Daria. "What about 'How To Read A Book?"

Daria and Jodie raised hands. "The 1974 edition of the World Book Encyclopedia, volume 'S'?"

Daria's hand went up. "The Turner Diaries?"

Daria and Brittany raised their hands. "You're kidding," Daria remarked, her eyes widening. "You're becoming a reader?"

"And you're becoming a mean person!" the bubbly cheerleader pouted, turning her head away from Daria as Andrea continued.

"The Satanic Verses?"

Daria and Mack raised their hands. "You read that?" Jane asked Mack, amazement in her eyes.

"I was curious," he admitted. "Holy war' and everything… hey, an entire religion went after the guy."

"The Autobiography of Malcolm X?"

Daria and Jodie raised their hands. "Yeah, as if I'd get out of reading THAT," Jodie smirked.

"The Rock Says…' The Autobiography of The Rock?"

Daria's hand went up. "Explain that," Jane laughed, and Daria glowered at her.

"I was at Mom's office all day one Saturday, and her partner's son had left it there. I was bored, she wouldn't let me leave, and it was the only book in the entire place that didn't have law cases in it."

"'The Sewing Circle?"

Daria gave a start. "Never heard of it."

"It outs lesbian film stars from the '30's to the '50's - kind of esoteric. I'll give you a pass. 'Men Are From Mars - Women Are From Venus?"

Daria's mouth started to open, then slammed shut. "Strike two," Andrea sighed. "Any of the 'Sweet Valley High' series of books?"

Daria dropped her eyes. "It's like Regis says, Daria - 'It's not the difficulty that'll get you, it's the wide range of knowledge. One more: 'The Greatest Generation?"

Daria couldn't look up. "Damn. You need to read in the bookstores as well as in the library. Just because it's popular doesn't mean you're shallow for reading it - its called having range."

"I've got range in my reading."

"The 'Necronomicon', or any of the books in the 'Left Behind' series."

"Andrea, you don't have to rub it in," Jodie scolded, annoyed at Daria's sullen silence and the smug smirk Sandi had suddenly grown. "You get to be the librarian. Say, where's Kevin, anyway?"

Annoyingly on cue, Janet Barch opened the door of the cafeteria and escorted a red-faced Kevin - now in cargo pants and a hooded sweatshirt - into the area. "Just remember - one screw-up, and the Doctor gives you to me," Barch hissed, letting go of his arm. "I'll be waiting for you…"

"Oh, Ms. Barch?" Upchuck said, coming up to the teacher. "Could I have a word with you, please…?"

"What do you want, Charles -?"

""Please, over here…"

Kevin, suddenly realizing that Ms. Barch had released him, all but sprinted over to the table where the others waited. "Whoa, dudes, I thought she was going to kill me just by looking at me!" he blurted out, looking over at Jane's unfinished snack and reaching out for one. "Hey, chicken nuggets! Can I have - AHHHHHHH! OWWW!"

Jane stabbed at Kevin's hand as hard as she could with her plastic spoon/fork utensil, also known as a 'spork'. "MINE!" she hissed, pulling her spork out of his hand and grinning evilly as she watched him rub the spot where the utensil actually left marks without breaking the skin. "Don't put your hands on ANYTHING of mine unless I say you can!"

"Jeez, Norma Bates, ease up already! I'm sorry!"

"Where were you, Kevvie?"

"They had to call my mom," he said, sheepishly glancing around the table. "She brought some clothes… I only had my jock on after I got out of my uniform -"

"Too much information - thank you very much, " Jodie snapped, wincing in union with the others at the table. "Next on the list - where do we hide the shelter?"

"The shelter - you mean, the thing from class? You're working on that now?"

"Yes, Kevin," Jodie sighed, already feeling the pressure build behind her forehead at the prospect of having to listen to 'Kevin-logic'. "We need to plan on where to hide the shelter-"

"Yo, dudette - you can't hide the hideout!" Kevin cried out. "We've gotta tell people where the place is, so we can get pizza delivered when we watch the football games on Sunday!"

Kevin found himself on the receiving end of seven very hostile stares, all wrapped in a thick blanket of deafening silence. "Well, we gotta have pizza - right, Brit? Right? Brittany, you know I gotta have my pie with everything on it during the game!"

The others silently stood as one and walked away. "Brit? Mack? Jodie? Aw, come on - you know you want pizza delivery, too!" A short pause. "Guys? Where are you going? Are you all going to the john at the same time?"

*****

"This could be the single worst cup of coffee - no, the single most foul and vile substance that I have ever tasted in all of what I've come to consider a miserable life."

Seated in the editing suite (actually, Morgendorffer Consulting's smaller conference room), Jake, a stunning red-haired Englishwoman, and a handsome Italian man nodded in communal misery as they glanced at their barely touched cups of coffee. "She's a four-star chef, and she can't make a decent pot of coffee," Wendy Thackerell continued, pushing her heavy stoneware cup away and turned back to the non-linear editing machine that had been set up in the room. "So I guess all of us lesser females can finally rejoice - she of all the hair and curves can't do one thing right!"

Love your curves, baby, Vince Rizzo thought under his breath, thinking about the date he had lined up with her for Thursday night and mentally licking his lips as he noticed the way Wendy's T-shirt showed off her charms… not to mention her disdain for undergarments. I've got some Yanni, a bottle of pinot noir and sweet, sweet plans once I get you up in my loft, baby girl… I've heard stories about you screwing like a jackrabbit on speed - well, now it's MY turn for some of that action-!

That's what you think, you greasy jerk bastard, Wendy thought to herself as she watched him with her peripheral vision. She had seen that look before.

The blustery thirtysomething who acted as the director and production manager for 'North of the Border' tried to take another sip of the fetid liquid and nearly gagged. "That must be really horrid if you can't get it down," Vince said, smirking as Wendy pushed the cup away. "I mean, I've heard that you swallow-"

Jake's shock of Vince's comment was dampened somewhat as Wendy, eyes widened as an instant surge of electric rage arced through her, snatched the cup up and whipped it with all of her strength directly at Vince's head!

The sharp, quick sound of Vince's cry of pain, the thud! of the cup impacting against his forehead and his unconscious form falling back from his chair greeted Lauriel and Horizon as they entered the room. "Let me guess - he made a comment about sex with your grandmother or your dog," Lauriel winced, shaking her head as Jake quietly picked up Wendy's cup and slid it back across the table to her. "If you can't stop dating the hired help, Wendy - could you at least stop assaulting them in public?"

"I'd be happy if you stopped living the 'redheads are evil' stereotype," Horizon snipped, earning her an impatient look from Jake. "Well -?"

"Then ask them to show a little more discretion or at least keep from dipping their comments in the gutter before they open their mouths," Wendy growled, and turned her eyes upon Horizon. "Piss off."

She turned back to Lauriel. "I was going to fire him anyway - he's been using the cameras on the weekends to make 'videos'. When are you going to learn how to make coffee?"

"I know how to make coffee -"

"Not her fault," Horizon winced. "I put some overnight cleaner in the machine - and I forgot to mention it when I called in earlier. Sorry."

"Did you at least bring my steak fries?" Wendy asked, glancing away from the keyboard as Horizon set a bag down on the table. "Steak and cheese sandwich, steak fries with ranch and cheese dip, and a large Sprite?"

"I got it - I got it!" Horizon snapped, taking a smaller bag out and sliding it over to her. "Why were you all trying to drink that coffee - it's almost 3 p.m.!"

"You've never spent time playing 'edit bunny," Wendy said, wolfing down a BIG bite o the large sandwich as the others watched in slight amazement - after all, NOTHING Wendy did caused much of a rise after a while… 'slashing outlaw' was a reasonable description of the woman. "Girls are 'edit bunnies', guys are 'edit mummies' - you spend a lot of time in a small room in the dark, usually underground. Coffee is a vital fluid when you spend hours and hours in front of an editing monitor. I thought you were an intern!"

"Business - remember?"

"Oh, yeah - right. Pass me some of that cheese sauce," Wendy said, chomping down a couple of steak fries. "Hey, Jake! Make yourself useful - haul that piece of crap out of here and stick a check for his severance on him! What about you, Intern Girl - letting your brain necrofy in silence while you wait for new kneepads to come in before finals? You help!"

Horizon started over the table but was stopped by Jake. "Behave or I take the car," Jake said, shaking his finger at her. "Lauriel, do you mind?"

"You get that side," the Latina said, grasping his left arm. "Let's go…"

They lifted the surprisingly heavy man out of the conference room and down the hall to a small room with a couple of soft, reclining chairs a television and a single-size bed. "Lay him out here," Jake said, guiding them over to the bed. "Just drop him."

They put a still-unconscious Vince on the bed, and Lauriel dropped into one of the recliners. "Give me a moment," she said, breathing a little hard as she sat back.

"Are you alright?" Jake said, going over to her - and trying not to notice the incredible length and definition of Lauriel's legs as she leaned back. "That shouldn't have tired you out-"

"I'm pregnant," she stated bluntly - and laughed as Jake stumbled back, his face absolutely drained of color. "Gotcha!"

"Don't DO that!" Jake said, easing his way towards the other chair. "Now, I need to sit down…"

"I guess I need to start going back to the fitness club," Lauriel said, stretching herself in the chair. "Time to pull the old orange pullover out of retirement and start up with the jogging again. Want to come along?"

"No, thanks - already had one heart attack." And watching you bounce around an indoor track in a skintight leotard is not going to cause my next, he thought. That's what I have a family for. "That's what did my father in."

"I thought I heard that your father was a Marine."

"And no war could kill him - he had the fruit salad to prove it."

"Pardon me? 'Fruit Salad?"

"That's what they call all of the ribbons on the front of a soldier's uniform that represent the medals he's won," Jake said. "God knows he earned every one of them… Alexander Hamilton 'Mad Dog' Morgendorffer - a true-blue, flag-waving, card-carrying 'real American hero. The old bastard managed to survive three no-shit wars, God knows how many 'incidents' and every whorehouse in Amsterdam, Germany and the Far East Theatre without a scratch or sniffle - but he gets back here, stuck behind a desk on a permanent basis - and dies a month later."

The bitterness that usually preceded a rant began to bubble into his voice; he looked up to see Lauriel kneeling down next to him, true concern in her eyes as she took his hand in her own. "Was he a bad man, Jacob?"

The look of true, honest concern in those large, gentle eyes calmed Jake down and allowed his bitterness to bleed off into nothingness. "No," he admitted, "In a very real sense, he wasn't. He was just trying to make me over in his image - the next generation of the 'American fighting man.' I guess it never occurred to him that I'd want anything other than to follow in his footsteps - after all, he was a damned hero that kids all over looked up to!"

"Really?"

"Dad enlisted in the Marines in 1944, just after he turned sixteen - he was already six-foot-four and built like a bulldozer," Jake told her. "He lied about his age, of course, and they sent him to the South Pacific with a flame-thrower and an attitude. He got the name 'Mad Dog' because - well, one time, his unit was pinned down by heavy fire coming out of a dense area of the jungle, so he managed to sneak out of the ambush. The others in his unit thought he was a coward and ran away, but he was moving around and through the jungle growth so he could come up from behind. "

He sat up, more than aware of the warm touch of Lauriel's hand and yet not letting go. "He was about a hundred or so yards behind them when he runs into five or six of the enemy - apparently, they had the same thought he did about making their way behind. They start shooting, he flames them as he gets hit - and his tank gets nicked. One of the bad guys - I don't know, he must've thought about getting a brand-new flame-thrower from the U.S. Marines was a good idea. So - instead of just shooting him, he gets a belt from somewhere and gets it around Dad's neck to strangle him - or at least keep him busy while another soldier slices him with his sword."
Lauriel looked up. "His sword? How did he -"

"Dad swung the belt-guy around and HE got sliced, then got him with the flame-thrower," Jake continued. "Now, here's where it gets weird - because Dad swore he didn't remember any of this - but the guys in Dad's unit suddenly see the jungle where the shooters are just explode into flames like a Roman candle! The Japanese soldiers just start throwing their guns down and running - in total fear of something coming behind them… and that's when they see Dad charging after the soldiers, literally foaming at the mouth and yelling incoherently at the top of his voice! He actually ran through the flames, with the flame-thrower in one hand, the sword in the other - and the belt still tight around his neck, looking for all the world like a broken leash!"

"That would scare anybody."

"It really bothered the platoon CO - he had Dad checked out for mental problems. Meanwhile, the big-shots are looking over the combat area: it turns out that the bad guys had the firepower to wipe out the entire unit and then move in to do serious damage to the landing craft on the beach about five miles away. If that wasn't enough to make them go nice with Dad, checking his flame-thrower and finding his makeshift repairs -"

"Makeshift repairs?"

"Chewing gum and duct tape. They gave him the Medal of Honor three weeks later," Jake said. "The nickname 'Mad Dog' stuck almost immediately… and then they stuck him behind a desk for the next three years - except for promotional tours. They found out about his age but they couldn't put him back into action - so he waited, went into Recon, and zoomed through jump school. When he turned nineteen, he got married - and when Korea happened, he volunteered. I was born the day he parachuted in."

"And he was never around," Lauriel said. "You didn't have a father… you had a walking recruiting poster. Jacob, I'm so sorry…"

"It was okay, I guess - being the son of 'Mad Dog' - until they sent me to Buxton Ridge. I hated he place," Jake reflected. "There was one nice thing about military school, though: there was a cook there. Albert Horstmeyer. He was career Army - thirty-five years running mess halls and dining rooms on three continents, and even Presidents ate his food. He would tell me stories…" Lauriel smiled as she saw the content, warm look the memories brought over him. "I learned all sorts of things about cooking and food from him. 'Gunny Horse-Meat' - they called him that out of backhanded respect, because he could feed men a good meal with anything he got his hands on… Gunny showed me that wearing a uniform and serving your country didn't have to mean killing everything in sight, or being a 'big hero'… it could just mean making the lives of the people around you a bit better, even if it's just for a single meal. I guess that's why I always try to cook for my girls…"

"Jacob…" Lauriel stroked his cheek. "Oh, Jacob…"

She reached over and hugged him, and for once, he didn't resist as she put her arms around him and held him tight. "I've never told anybody about 'Gunny Horse-Meat' before," he said, "not even Helen. I just never - I mean, I didn't think that she'd -"

Lauriel gently parted from him. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for sharing that with me."

"You understand," Jake said, brushing the hair away from Lauriel's eyes. "When I lost that 'pet cigars' account a year or so back, I felt so empty; like I wasn't worth anything. That's why I started cooking again. With everything from Helen and her career to the girls to my business on the fritz, I needed something to make me feel good again, like those times I had in the mess hall at Buxton Ridge. And then, when I got a chance to work with you, and all the time we've had together…"

A sudden, uncomfortable feeling came over the both of them, and Lauriel pulled away from his touch as she stood up. "I, ah, think that we should go back and edit our lunches."

"We can do that as we eat the show for next week," Jake echoed. "I'll get some tapes from the Sony machine down the hall."

The two exited the room quickly and quietly, each acutely aware of the other's personal space as Jake allowed Lauriel to go ahead of him out the door. Neither gave a second thought to the still insensate form of Vance, alone and prone on the small bed behind them.

*****

"Thank you, Ms. Li," Upchuck said, closing the door behind himself as he left the principal's office.

"Charles -!" came a whispered cry, and Upchuck looked up to see Stacy Rowe in the doorway of an empty classroom, waving him over. "Come on -!"

Checking around the hall, Upchuck darted across and inside, closing the door and locking it before turning to the willowy, leggy brunette who looked at him with large, shining eyes.

"What did she say, Charles? Did she say yes?"

"She's going to talk to my father - he's invited her to lunch at the office," Upchuck said, moving in closer to Stacy and delighting in the wide smile on her face. "Everything looks good, though."

"Oh, I'm so happy for you!" Stacy cried out, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. "Everyone's going to be so impressed by what you're going to do - oh, it's going to be so wonderful!"

"Nowhere near as wonderful as knowing that I've earned the affections of a wonderful, charming woman like you," he replied, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry that I can't give you everything that you deserve, Stacy…"

"But you have -"

"No," he replied, putting a single finger to her lips. "You are such a special girl, Stacy Rowe. You should have guys running up to you and begging to do anything you want. You shouldn't have to be around vain, empty-headed things like Quinn Morgendorffer and Sandi Griffin and play their lapdog, constantly telling them how smart and witty and pretty they are! Unlike you, not one of them has a depth and a personality that makes their beauty even more divine."

It was moments like this that made Stacy feel like a princess in a Greco-Roman mythic tale. A witty, godlike creature in love with her, a wonderful, divine presence that literally swept her off her feet each and every time he cast a gaze in her direction, or spoke to her with words of love and admiration. This, she thought, she could enjoy for a lifetime.

She remembered how she was within the beginnings of a relationship with Ted Dewitt-Clinton, but that ended when he would constantly make disparaging remarks about Charles. One day, tired of the Sandi-esque tirade of Ted's about Charles and his attitudes towards women, Stacy turned to him and asked him, "Do you know Charles, Ted? Do you know him as a person? If you don't, then how can you say all of these things about him?"

Ted challenged her to live up to her own words. She did - after breaking up with him - and sought out Charles ('Upchuck' at the time, she remembered with a passing sense of shame). She wanted to find out why he was like he was - or if he really was like that.

He was. Oh, without a doubt, he was… but it was a family thing, she discovered. The Ruttheimers was a family with a tradition of lasciviousness to shame the Borgias, the Martin Sheen family, or any extended clan created by Aaron Spelling or Jackie Collins. Lotharios and Valentinos filled the male ranks for generations, while Mata Hari, Catherine the Great and Erica Kane might just as well have been female Ruttheimers. Sexuality and sensuality was the order of the day in the Clan Ruttheimer… which also disguised the fact that Ruttheimers were also all-but-undisputed masters of whatever area they chose to enter. Charles' father was a computer guru of the first order; his twin older sisters were, respectively, a noted music critic and an Olympic-class martial artist & fencer. And Charles? He could not only make a computer dance like his father, but his skills as an artist were such that they could put Jane Lane - Lawndale High's best - on notice that there was a new gunslinger in town. Stacy still gasped in awe every time she went into Charles' room and saw some of his works - the fractal image of a black hole in space, the reproduction of the 'nude, swirling demons' image from 'The Devil's Advocate', but with the faces and figures of some of their fellow students from LHS - and a museum-quality portrait of Charles' parents.

Stacy cringed inwardly as she thought of them. Charles the Second was a nice man and had no problems with their dating - but his mother…

Bronwyn Ruttheimer had married into the clan, and she was an intelligent, statuesque Irish inferno that had absolutely no love for Stacy whatsoever. None. Period. The end. She wanted Stacy GONE.

She tried to talk to her, but Bronwyn was adamant in her belief that Stacy would one day meet someone else, turn on her 'Little Charles' and hurt him. Stacy wanted Bronwyn to understand that SHE understood, that she wouldn't hurt Charles like that, that she was coming to understand what being a Ruttheimer really meant… and, she discovered one night, as she was drifting off to sleep, that she wouldn't mind becoming part of that legacy…

She knew, though, that any chance of that meant someday going head-to-head with Bronwyn. That meant becoming tougher than she was now, stronger - it meant having some friends who were strong enough to stand up to Bronwyn, too.

But that was in the future. For right now, dealing with her Ruttheimer and his innate drives came first…

"That doesn't keep you from still hitting on Daria Morgendorffer," Stacy pointed out, a sharpened point of actual jealously easing through her with painful slowness. "How do you think it makes me feel when I hear about or see you worming your way up to one of those girls -?"

"If I didn't still make passes at them on occasion, they would wonder why I stopped," Upchuck told her. "They would start prying, and then they would find out about us. I don't want them to know until I've finished - that way, I'll be able to give you what you deserve. You should be able to walk proudly on your own… and walk with whoever you want."

"I am," Stacy said, kissing the tip of his finger. "I'm going to walk down these halls with you. I don't care about what any of the others in the Fashion Club think about us, Charles. I want everyone to know how I feel."

"And they'll always make fun of you - because of me… 'Upchuck," he objected. "They've always made fun of me. I don't care, because I know what I am and to hell with what any of them think… but not to you, Stacy. They're not going to hurt you because of me."

"Is that why you've got this whole crazy idea, Charles? For me?" Stacy said, and big tears appeared in her eyes. "You don't have to prove anything to me -"

"And thank you."

Stacy wiped her eyes, moved by the affection and emotion on the young man's face. "Charles, you are listening to them if you don't think that you're good enough -"

"We have to sneak around in empty classrooms and go out only to places none of the people we know will go," he replied gently. "I'm not good enough for you. In the only way that matters - in the eyes of your friends - I'm not."

He leaned forward, and tears ran down Stacy's cheeks as they kissed.

"But I'm going to be," he said, wiping at her face with a napkin. "One day, I'm going to walk hand-in-hand with you down the halls of this school, and no one is going to think the worst of you for it. That's a promise to you, Stacy Rowe; a promise that I am going to keep."

Upchuck kissed Stacy's cheek once again. "I do love you."

Stacy slid down into a chair, sniffling as she watched him unlock the classroom door, blow her a kiss, and check the hall before he shot out through the doorway.

"Don't you understand anything, Charles?" she said, shaking her head as she tried in vain to keep the tears from falling. "I love you, too; but I love you for who you are, right now…!"

*****

"So, Kyle -"

"Yes, Angela?"

The Asian principal's face produced a slight scowl. "Doctor Armalin, let me get this correct. You've offered one of my prize students a high grade if she chooses not to attend your special seminar - and in doing so, not giving her a chance to use her superior scholastic skills in order to bring honor, and glory, to the students and teachers of LAWNDALE HIGH-"

"Is that what you're bent over and grabbing your ankles about? I thought you were mad about my test-driving the cheerleading squad after the game last week!"

"Doctor, that was an inappropriate and unnecessary comment, and I would prefer that you not repeat it," Angela growled, her voice unnaturally low. "Now, back to the case of Miss Morgendorffer. You decided to take it upon yourself to take this course of action without consulting me -"

"I don't call you for help unzipping my pants either - although, if you're so inclined, I think that we could work something -" He let a huge grin cross his face, countering the Siberian-grade stare Angela projected at him. "You see, that's the problem here at Lawndale High. The people who're having all the sex aren't the ones who need it!"

"Are you QUITE finished, Doctor Armalin?"

The Doctor leaned forward from the wall he was holding up. "Yeah. I'm finished. Now, I'll listen to anything sensible that you have to say."

Angela almost hyperventilated at the man's comment, but quickly composed herself. "Doctor, I have been watching Miss Morgendorffer since her arrival here two years ago - and aside from a number of… quirks, she has been a beacon of academic progress and achievement! I personally recommended her for your seminar because I felt she would come out of it as a superior pupil!"

"There's only one problem with your idea, Ms. Li - the child doesn't want it."

"Excuse me?"

"Ms. Li, Daria's an incredible student, but she doesn't want to be here," the Doctor said, walking over and sitting down on top of Li's desk. "Your academic environment is slightly next to useless for bringing out the potentials of a mind like hers, and when you factor in the excess baggage she has from home, her so-called social life and God knows what else, she's a walking time bomb running hot and loose in your nitroglycerine factory. You blew your shot with Morgendorffer. If it wasn't for the few friends she has, you'd have lost her at least a year ago."

"Why, I - you, you can't say that about my school!"

"I just did - and you know that I'm right," he said, looking her directly in the eye. "Your hardcore, 'Stalag 17' approach to education may work for all those kids who need for someone to watch over them and keep them on the straight and narrow, but for a Daria Morgendorffer, this is barely 'Stalag 13'! You need to get her into some program that'll not only challenge her mental abilities and gifts, but may actually offer an environment that'll allow her to open up and face whatever's wrong with her! You know she needs that, and even if I did keep her in my program, it's not really geared for a girl like her. If she really wanted to, she could ace the coursework without a sweat - but she wouldn't enjoy it, and THAT'S one of the important parts of the program… that the kids not only learn, but enjoy doing it"

The Doctor stood up and began to walk across the room. "Ms. Li -for some reason, Daria simply doesn't enjoy life. She sees all of this as a curse, and she'd ruin the joy of the course for the rest of the students. What she needs is an environment where she can't simply say, 'I don't have to bother with this because this is stupid." She needs to be among young men and women with similar intellect - similar skills, abilities, perhaps interests; other kids who'll look her in the eye and say, 'So, you think you're better than us? Prove it!' - or they'll sit back and tell her, 'You think you've suffered before? Before we're done with you, you're going to beg to be back with those Lawndale High hicks!" She needs an environment that'll provide experiences and challenges that will force her to grow beyond her shell and her comfort zone, one that'll force her to rise above and beyond what she is now - and in the process, begin to mature into an actual person."

Ms. Li sat silently as the Doctor turned back. "And if she doesn't get it soon, it's going to be too late. The type of woman she could possibly become… is not the type of person I want to think about."

"You have valid points," Angela finally said. "But the fact remains, sir, that Daria does not wish to attend Grove Hills - or any other preparatory academy, either."

"She will," the Doctor said quietly. "She will."

Angela's eyebrows raised slowly. "Indeed. You have a way with… altering a person's path - not that it's always successful…"

"DO NOT blame me for Trent Lane. He had - HAS - a frightening potential… and I'm not the one responsible for that asinine stunt in the bookstore. If people had listened to me, he wouldn't be wasting away doing a piss-poor Cobain impression on any crappy stage that'll have him and screwing all the local scrags."

There was a moment of silence. "I would appreciate it in the future if you would keep me informed of what you're doing," Angela sighed. "For example, I had a meeting earlier with young Mr. Ruttheimer - something about the assignment in your class. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, do you? Or, should I say - would you like to?"

"News to me, more or less," the Doctor said, "and no - I wouldn't want to know. In every class, some kid in my class tries to do an end run around my primary assignment. This time, I think it's this Ruttheimer kid. Let's see what he's got to offer: did I ever tell you about the time…"

*****

Night was slowly approaching, and under the fading wisps of sunlight, Group Three was camped out on the Lawndale High football field - now brightly lit by the stadium light that surrounded the field. They had come out to eat dinner while working on their project in an area where they wouldn't be bothered; however, one little thing was standing in the way of their continuing work…

"You're being silly, Mack."

"I don't care what you say, Jodie - I'm not kissing you if you've been eating 'Satan's Pringles", Mack said, shying away from Jodie as they sat on a blanket on the football field. "Those things reek, and I get dizzy after I breathe near them…"

"And somebody else says it, too!" Jane piped up, lifting her head from a giant meatball hoagie and earning a sharp glance from the young woman. "We know you love those things, Jodie, but those things are like radiation poisoning to the rest of us!"

Jodie looked around at the eight other faces camped out on the football field, and only Andrea failed to shake her head in agreement. "Hey, eat your stuff if you want," the Goth said brusquely, lifting her head from her copy of 'The Shadow Exploded: Documented Facts and Specific Conclusions Derived from the Case of Carietta White'. "I don't mind the smell."

"See what happens when you attend one human sacrifice too many?" Jane said, turning to Daria.

"I only go for the pleas of mercy - the smell of Dad's cooking ensures that I could body-surf through a landfill and never notice the scent."

"That's something else - your dad's cooking is the bomb!"

"That's the general feeling about it in Nagasaki."

"Sometimes, I just don't get you," Jane observed. "If someone in my family was a gourmet chef, they'd have to beat me away from the table with a cattle prod, but you turn your nose up at all of it! You know, sometimes I think that you've got it too good…"

Daria's retort evaporated as Sandi turned her eyes onto Jodie and said, "Jodie, I think that it's best that you should put those away. It's getting in the way of all of out working tonight, and it's not as if they're going to go stale if you don't eat them right away."

"FINE," Jodie snapped, putting her bag of 'Bayou Boiler Chips' into a Ziploc storage bag before stuffing them back into her knapsack. "Is everyone happy now?"

Jane hopped up and began to do a passable Irish jig as Daria smirked and the others giggled and tried to suppress their laughter. "Okay, Jane, that's enough," Sandi said darkly, tossing a Twinkie at her. "Can we get back to work -?"

"Yeah - hey, thanks!" Jane said, catching the Twinkie and gobbling it down. "Man, that 'pop quiz' of the Doctor's was a mother-!"

"At least it'll act as thirty percent extra credit - or in some people's cases, thirty percent towards not flunking… for some of us," Jodie said, casting a wary eye towards Kevin. "Has anyone figured out what he's going to do for the project?"

"Kevin's going into the bunker with a DVD player, eighty jumbo frozen pizzas, two hundred Hot Pockets, thirty-five kegs of 'Bud Light', a 65-inch projection TV and DVD discs of all of the college bowl games and the Super Bowls," Sandi said offhandedly. "Every time he gets completely wasted, we'll take a sample - and once all of his supplies are gone, we zero him."

Everyone looked at Sandi with expressions of shock - except Andrea, who nodded with a look of light surprise and respect, and Kevin, who was playing with a string of cheese off a slice of pizza and wasn't paying attention. "Unless, of course, someone wants to have children with him in the old-fashioned way…"

The girls all looked away, distaste on their faces. "I thought so. I don't want to think about the end of the world and Kevin as the only eligible man around - come on, do you think Jodie's going to share Mack?"

"Hey, I don't mind being a community boy-toy-"

"Stop having your 'Last Man On Earth' fantasies before I bury you out on this field," Jodie smiled, not minding how Mack waggled his eyebrows at all of the girls and laughed as Daria blushed furiously. "I'll make do with Kevin if you get out of hand!"

"Huh - Really?" Kevin said, his ears perking up. "Hey, Jodie - you and me? COOL! I never did it with a really smart chick before -"

Brittany snapped around, her eyes narrowed.

"-And since you're President of Student Council and a jock, too, it's okay if we get it on! I always did like those skirts you wear - Man, you've got some legs, and a NICE butt -!"

Jodie and Brittany glanced over to one another, and a look passed between them as they both rose from the field… one that made Mack glad he knew Jodie cared about him.

"Kevin… why don't you come with us?" Brittany said, her voice holding a baby-doll, 'come-hither' tone that enticed stupid men and made guys with a clue run like terrified impalas. "Jodie and I have something to show you…"

"Really? Oh, man, this is SO cool!"

"I wasn't thinking cool, Kevin," Jodie said, letting her finger run across his shoulder and the back of his neck as she walked around to where the clueless boy sat. "I was thinking about the opposite temperature…"

"Huh?"

"Hot, Kevvie," Brittany said, glancing over at Jodie. "She means hot. We know that you like it that way."

"Hey, you know it, babes," Kevin said. "Let's all go on over to my Jeep…"

Mack didn't like the way this was going. "Hey, Jodie -"

A firm hand planted on Mack's shoulder kept him seated, as did the look on his girlfriend's face. "We'll be back."

"And when they come back, they'll be real women!" Kevin crowed, his arms around the girls' waists. "Hey, Mack! If I'm not back in a day - call my dad and tell him that I'm a real man now!"

"If he's not back in a day, we'd better call O.J.," Daria shot back, watching as the girls led Kevin away. "If he can hide the knife, he can help them ditch the body."

"Well, while they're adding chapters to the Barth 'respect girls' manual, we'd better get back to work," Sandi spoke up. "Andrea, what about the CD's and E-Book idea you had for your library…"

*****

Meanwhile, at Stacy Rowe's home, Stacy and Upchuck were in her bedroom, his laptop computer and her desktop model both active as they downloaded information on Kyle, his seminars from the past, and his military records.

"Before we're done," he said to Stacy, 'We'll have a really great idea on what the good Doctor's going to have planned for all of us in his class…"

*****

"And this, ladies and gentlemen, is MY version of a pop quiz. Yeah, I know that it must really swallow the pickle, but look on the bright side…there won't be any more pop quizzes… I promise."

Kyle smiled as he leaned back in his chair, almost relishing the images of communal looks of discomfort throughout the class from the day before - and the choruses of mumbles and groans almost made him laugh out loud, especially as he recalled the young faces before him. Sitting on the desk before him were the results of a specialized test battery he had surprised the students in his seminar with three days earlier - the 'Pop Quiz', as it was called by the instructors in the program.

As the seminar teaching syllabus recommended, Kyle always sprang 'the Pop Quiz' on the kids in his seminar at about a week and a half to two weeks into the program. It gave him an idea on who to focus on - and ensured that all but the chronically idiotic would score at least a 'C' in the course. Got to keep the parents and administrators happy, so we can keep coming back to the schools…

For his part, Kyle always considered the test battery as someone's own personal tribute to the supersecret training simulation made famous in 'Star Trek'. He actually marveled at the fact that, after the six years he had been running the seminars at schools in the Midwest (and over twenty years of being given out by instructors in 'The Program' - 'Project Fast Forward' had been operating since 1979, when it began in several schools in Central Illinois), no one had ever spilled the secret about 'the Pop Quiz'. It was a test that, in conjunction with the school administration, was given at the beginning of the day - as it was almost as difficult as the ACT or SAT testing, and took almost four hours to complete.

There were several reasons for 'The Pop Quiz'; unknown to the students, each was given a set of situations, questions and problems specifically designed and tailored for each individual student to create and foster optimum levels of mental stress and personal discomfort. Creating subconscious messages within the student did this; messages that questioned, made insinuations towards or raised doubt about the environment and home life the student was raised in, as well as certain closely held beliefs, attitudes, desires and even fears.

Lane's quiz, for example, prefaced almost everything to convey subliminal images and messages about the positive benefits and advantages of stereotypical American family values and lifestyles - the 'nuclear family' - in respect to the negatives of any other family grouping or structures. It also generated images and messages about the intolerance and general antipathy society held towards the 'starving artist', touched upon the blatantly selfish and morally vacant nature of individuals who criminally chose their own needs for artistic expression above the needs of their offspring, and how persons who subjugated their desires to 'explore their muses' in order to obtain financial and personal success and acclaim were not only destined for greater things - but were, in fact, more honest & in touch with themselves, as well as having a more focused and insightful worldview. Coming from a bohemian, 'latchkey child' upbringing and yet being subjected to a concentrated dosage of stimuli which suggested that her lifestyle wasn't conducive to her becoming an 'upstanding, successful member of society', Lane would gradually exhibit greater levels of stress and discomfort during the test - which would certainly factor into how she would view the stated situations and complete the questions

One of the things the test measured was how far off their normal behavioral patterns the kids would go after being subjected to these unconscious levels of stress; another was the 'default factor'- the near-instinctual set of behaviors that each individual would fall back upon in times of stress. Very similar to the 'fight-or-flight' response in almost all beings (including humans), the 'default factor' was something that could be altered or supplemented by training. The intensity of the training, and the relative age and intelligence of the subject, were primary considerations involved in the alteration of a person's DFI (Default Factor Index).

Young, above-average OR below-average intelligence, and positive responses to very intense training and indoctrination. Those were the elements for a 'perfect' DFI rating of 15 (on a scale of 0 to 30), and DFI ratings of 12 to 17 were considered as 'viable for consideration of recruitment'. Anyone with a DFI rating below five would NEVER change - they simply didn't have the mental faculties for even short-term shiftover (the term used to describe DFI alterations). DFI values between 19 to 23 were considered average, and a good 70%to 80% of all those tested scored in this range. Over 25 - well, in about half of those cases, their minds would accept new skills and training, but that training almost never seemed to become second nature in stress situations, particularly combat - except in one specific area. In those cases, the person had an almost-genetic predisposition towards specific areas - 'savant' was the perfect term for them, and they were practically useless for anything else. The remainder of those DFI-25 and over, well, those persons were just too damned smart (not to mention 'quirky', 'eccentric' or just down and outright 'strange') and for them to be of any use, their special talents or skills had to be identified and reinforced as soon as possible. Overall, those persons tended to become 'specialists' in one area or another, possessed of the ability to make fundamental advances within their area of expertise … if found and trained soon enough. Too long, and… Kyle shuddered, thinking once again of Trent Lane - the only 30 he had ever heard of since the program began.

I actually found a DFI-30, and they went and blew it. What a waste. Oh, well…

Kyle went through the results. Lane - 20. Surprisingly well balanced kid - well, good for her. Taylor - 13. THAT was a surprise - or maybe not, considering the stories he had started to hear about the girl. Security and military interests - and martial arts skills, well before kickboxing gained favor with women and 'Tae-Bo' reared its ugly head? She bore watching… Griffin - 17. Same as Taylor - better keep an eye on her… and NOT for that. Ruttheimer - 26. He had heard stories - LOTS of stories - about Ruttheimer men… Well, the kid's got money - I fear for the women around him, if he's an 'heir to the family gift'…

Landon - 15. Big surprise. Her parents had beaten her into mental submission so long ago that all she WOULD be good for is learning new things to please whoever was around. Not really worth looking further into, but she might make one hell of an effective diplomat someday… see if she's got some language skills, and make a call or two for the child. Mackenzie - 20. He really wasn't a consideration. Thomphson - 6. Another surprise… thought he wouldn't go higher than 4. Guess that's why he's the QB - Woo-hoo. Hecuba-Thorne - 21. Statistically average. Dewitt-Clinton - 24. See? Home schooling works - if you want to make a superior intellect, bereft of basic social skills, that'll spend the rest of his or her like in a futile search for emotional synchronicity with everyone around them. Can you say 'Lieutenant Commander Data', anyone?

Morgendorffer - 15.

Kyle shook his head, wiped his eyes, and looked at the coding sheet a second time.

Morgendorffer? DARIA Morgendorffer?

Fifteen?

FIFTEEN?

What the hell was going on here?

He dug through the pile of tests until he found the one he wanted, and took a sip of his cold root beer before he began to read through the thick test booklet… moments later, he went through his briefcase and pulled out an 'E-Book'. He turned the device on, and after a few commands, brought up a copy of Daria's personal file…

Raised in two-parent family - one sister, no brothers… though there was some question about a possible pregnancy in 1980… a son - died at birth? If the report was verified (and something about the report seemed distinctly shaded), he would have been in his early twenties… Kyle doubted Daria and her sister had ever been told about the earlier pregnancy or their brother…

That seems par for the course with the mother. Helen Miranda Morgendorffer (nee Barksdale) - late forties, former flower child who repudiated her '60's roots as thoroughly as Reagan did his Democratic background… no more 'Lavender', I see. Now an associate at a local law firm of some repute, fast-tracked to become the first female partner in the firms' 109-year history. Cut her teeth in her early days on criminal cases - hellishly effective in the courtroom, but then moved over to civil litigation and corporate work. Wonder what happened? Now the firm's fiercest enforcer, she had been noticed and recruited by several other firms… Holy crap. Those L.A. bastards at Wolfram & Hart actually offered her a position - and when she didn't accept, put her on retainer to act as their representative in Texas? She's got the attention of some heavy hitters!

Barksdale. No, that couldn't be… Control would have known about that, and they wouldn't have arranged for a Barksdale to be set up for the program! But still, if Helen was one of THEM, then he needed to know…

Oh, great. Now I'll have to do something I don't want to do. She only lives a few towns away, so I'll have to call and ask her to come over.

Kyle put his head back, and sighed as he closed his eyes for a moment. Damn. I don't need this - not her, and damnit, not right now… I don't need to turn my life back into a soap opera right now.

Keep your head on straight, he told himself, picking the E-Book back up. Just get past it - when she comes over, don't provoke her, don't pick fights about the past, and for God's sake, don't sleep with her! -

Kyle continued to read.

Controlling, dominant personality, quite forceful in interaction with others, enjoys using personal and other forms of power to achieve personal and professional goals. Holds a matriarchal-dominant control over all facets of her personal life; will not hesitate to use any method or form of control to achieve her ends… Lovely. Bet her kids'll forget where SHE lives when they turn twenty-one…

Father. Jacob Stewart Morgendorffer. Mid-forties, a year or so younger than the wife - bet that's a sticking point of contention. Son of Sergeant Major A. H. Morgendorffer, United States Marine Corps -

The 'Mad Dog' was this guy's FATHER?

Holy shit…

Kyle reread the file again.

Daria Morgendorffer's the granddaughter of the MAD DOG? Holy shit! No wonder the kid's such an opinionated, uncompromising little hardcore pain-in-the-ass - it's hard-wired in her genes!

He sat back, stunned respect on his face. Kyle had read about Alexander Hamilton Morgendorffer all the way back in basic, out at Camp Pendleton! That guy went island hopping back in WWII and was born-again HARD - and had the Medal of Honor to prove it! Shame they didn't have a son… the grandson of 'Mad Dog' Morgendorffer would have been an absolute bad-ass! Looks like it probably skips a generation; Jacob looks like he should have been a camp counselor, or an artist of some kind… Marked skill as an amateur gourmet chef; marital tensions rampant because of his enthusiasm for cooking. The bitch won't back her man because he'd rather cook than be 'a corporate success'… Typical. Oh, well - hope she keeps plenty of 'D' batteries on hand in her nightstand.

So what we've got here is a young woman raised in a home where her true interests and skills are either ignored, the cause of friction within her family or she's pushed towards using them to become 'a success'. She obviously has been doing the minimum amount of acceptable work to keep Mama Bear at bay, and yet she's developed a cynical outlook created as she grew up in a Petri dish of hypocrisy and manipulation… not to mention seeing dear old Dad slammed 24/7 for attempting to do what makes him happy - but having to settle for being miserable and, at best, marginally competent in the world his 'loving wife' wants him in. Even moreso, the young woman still wants - on some level - the 'Brady Bunch' fantasy family life, even though she knows that it's a pipe dream at best and absolute bull at worst. She wants to believe in something - she wants to fight for something… she's looking for a Cause… and, very likely, a special someone to share her 'revolutionary fervor' with. No, that's not fair. She wants a nice guy in a life - hell, being raised in America, deep down somewhere within her, she has the 'I'm a princess & I'm looking for Prince Charming' program running… She wants that, and yet she knows that, for the most part, it's all a lie - so she wraps herself up in knowledge and cynicism, pretends she doesn't care about most of the world and denies herself even the most basic and simple of pleasures, so she won't start to believe in the lie… Well, well. You need a Cause, something to believe in and someone to believe in & be there for you - and yet, do it on your own terms? . Now, this is something I can work with.

His root beer was warm and watery when he finished examining the test. His eyes blinked; he didn't even notice that the sun had gone down or the lights in the hallway had been dimmed.

Kyle guzzled the last dregs of his soft drink, flipped through the booklet once again, scanning pages that he had dog-eared to mark his place - and then reached into his jacket for his Dictaphone.

"Priority memo," he said, switching on the device. "Completed preliminary study and analysis of raw data from DFI test battery - stop. Five students have achieved DFI scores within parameters for further observation - stop. Recommend no further observation of subjects Landon, J. and Ruttheimer, C. - subjects have family histories that affects scoring - stop. New paragraph. Will begin changes in program to maximize shiftover potential of subject Morgendorffer, D. - period. Recommend that subject Morgendorffer, D. be persuaded to relocate to regional training location within 90 days - period. Already have begun process by speaking to administration personnel - period."

Kyle took a deep breath. "New paragraph. Will send results of all subjects ASAP - period. Priority recommendation: family history of subject Morgendorffer, D be cross-checked immediately for any familial connections to one Eleanor Barksdale of Rutherford, Texas - period. New paragraph. Strongly recommend that subject Morgendorffer, D be examined for possible consideration of POGO capability - period. New paragraph. If examination is satisfactory, strongly recommend that subject Morgendorffer, D be considered for recruitment and possible selection for POGO Program - period. End priority memo. Transmit and verify."

He hit a small button on the device, and a series of three beeps, silence, three additional beeps and a tiny green light on the side indicated the machine had done its job.

*****

Daria came up the partially lit stairwell, and grimaced as the muffled sounds of her mother's failing efforts to contain her cries of pleasure filtered through the door.

Jeez, get a soundproofed room…

She turned towards her own room, and heard the sounds of the shower running. Quinn must have heard their parents going at it again as well.

Why does she always act this way whenever someone brings up the topic of sex? Come on, Quinn, what do you think the 'Three 'J's' want you for, anyway - macramé? Act like you've got a clue - or doesn't sex come up in the Fashion Club? Or… does it come up, but not about guys…

Dismissing her sister from her mind, Daria went into her room, and as she undid her boots and slid out of her jacket, hit the power switch on her IMAC and logged on to check her e-mail. Nothing unusual: an anti-virus update, an ad from 'Miss Cleo', and an ad promising $50 bucks off when you subscribed to - ugh. One of the fun web sites for Kevin Thomphson and the other jocks - 'www. hot_wet_and_nasty.com'. Block sender.

She pulled a box of fruit juice from a drawer, and started to spear the top with the straw as she scrolled the screen down. Get a FREE issue of 'Val' magazine and a FREE 'Val' CD, featuring today's freshest bands and the coolest dance mixes, if you subscribe online. Get a free e-mail account with MSN Hotmail, and let the infernal minions of Bill Gates monitor your online travels and dealings. Get a 'Teen Debit' bankcard that'll help start your descent into chronic debt. You, too, can become a member of 'The Sandwich Cookie Global Anti-Defamation Coalition', and help fight the ongoing battle to restore dignity to a proud bakery product that has brought smiles to the faces of children for decades. Six billion people on Earth, and some of them have absolutely too much time on their hands.

And then she saw it - a link to 'Ultraswave Universe'. Upchuck's hell-spawned web site that all but screamed 'I LOVE ME!'

I don't need this, she thought, looking at the heading: 'About Dr. Armalin's seminar: an offer you can't refuse'. Oh, I think I can…

She moved the icon, and was about to hit the 'delete' when she decided not to get rid of the message, after all. I'll read it later - that way, I'll have a reason to plant the sleazeball on his butt again!

Daria logged off, and lumbered over to her bed. She was sound asleep before her head fully settled on the pillow.

*****

"We have the ships - we have the weapons - we need SOLDIERS!" the dramatic voice boomed from the wide-screen television at the front of the class. "Soldiers like Lt. Stach Lumbries… and Capt. Carmen Ibanez…"

Kevin's eyes were wide open as he watched the DVD of 'Starship Troopers', while behind him, Mack, Jodie and Jane enjoyed the film and shared a package of 'Twizzlers' licorice. In the next row, Brittany watched as well, mouthing the words of the film with the perfect sync of someone who's seen it many, many times, and even Upchuck managed to tear his eyes away from Brittany's supple, shapely silhouette to watch the screen.

"Soldiers like Private Ace Levy and Lt. John Rico…"

The face of Casper Van Diem appeared on the screen, and in the back, Kyle surpressed a smile. If it hadn't been for working with that peacock Franklin Davers, Kyle would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that people THAT attractive NEVER did time in uniform. If they did, they served only as embassy personnel, special honor guards and in other various high profile, high-visibility duties where they looked good in their perfectly fitted and spotless dress uniforms.

"COME ON, YOU APES - YOU WANNA LIVE FOREVER?"

Kyle almost laughed - then grew slightly somber. Franklin changed his mind quickly during a particularly vile mix-up on the Yungas Road in Bolivia. Starting out with only a pair of Beretta 9mm pistols with six spare clips for each pistol and his own field-issue knife, the strutting peacock tore apart a reinforced battalion of gunsels from the DaCosta drug cartel. He single-handedly ran a holding action while Kyle and his team hustled a group of international health workers to the safety of waiting helicopters, some fifteen miles away… and managed to stay alive for three days until he could be lifted out. Maybe the pretty boys could do damage after all…

"We need you all! Service guarantees citizenship!"

Daria sat back listlessly, her head propped up on her fist, as she watched the end of the film clip, then sat up and yawned as the lights came up.

"All right, comments, opinions, questions," Kyle said, walking to the front of the classroom. "Miss Morgendorffer?"

"Couldn't you have found something better for us to watch than some paternalistic, jingoistic, flag-waving piece of tripe with bad actors with good skin and stupid, over-the-top messages about serving the so-called common good?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Morgendorffer. You must have me mistaken for one of the REGULAR teachers here!"

Daria started to rise from her seat, but Kyle caught her with a look that would have made the Good Lord eat His peas and carrots. "STOP - right - there, Miss Morgendorffer," his vocal blast echoed, making even Daria wilt under its force. "If you're going to make comments of that nature, then you will take the time and show enough respect for the others here to justify what you've said. Don't think that your smart-aleck remarks will just go without challenge in MY presence. If nothing and if nowhere else - in here, you will be held accountable for your words."

Daria stood silently, gathering her thoughts.

"The film's a bad film."

"Defend your position."

"The film is filled with former models with no acting skills."

"Did the actors convey a sense of emotion through their performances that allowed you to experience, in a carthatic manner, the sensations and context of the film?"

"Did they-?"

"Did you feel, at any moment in the film, like you were actually with Rico and the others - out in space, fighting a war against those creatures, and fighting to keep yourself and your troopmates alive and well?"

"No - I knew that the movie was a load of crap-"

"So you didn't attempt to get into the heads of the characters, choosing instead to focus on the actors' portrayals of soldiers at war," Kyle said. "Have you ever served in uniform, Miss Morgendorffer?"

"No-"

"Have you ever fought in a war?"

"No-"

"Are you familiar with anyone who has actually served in a time of conflict and has come under fire?"

"No-"

"Have you studied historical, psychological or military records focusing on the day-to-day life of the foot soldier in combat?"

"No-"

"Then, Miss Morgendorffer, whether or not the portrayals of the soldiers in the film is accurate or not is irrelevant - because you have no point of reference to accurately judge those re-creations in any fashion whatsoever," Kyle said, and even Kevin winced at the way his glance slashed through Daria. "And before you come out with the tired old notion that everyone is entitled to an opinion, let me just say that if those opinions are as singularly uninformed as yours is, then they are in no way entitled to them."

Even Sandi felt a glimmer of sympathy for Daria, who appeared as though she wanted to just curdle up and melt through the floor. "In other words, Miss Morgendorffer - you've wasted class time by talking, when it is quite apparent that you don't know what you're talking about. SIT DOWN."

As Kyle turned away from the rest of the class to retrieve another root beer, Jane placed a consoling hand on Daria's forearm. "He didn't get enough sex this morning," she smirked. "Either that, or no one here's going to let him have a fatted calf for sacrifice."

With hearing more acute than they could realize, Kyle heard every word, and covered his smile by drinking before turning to the waving hand in the front row.

"Miss Taylor?"

"Well, one thing the film got right was that you're fighting for more than yourself - you ARE fighting for your country!"

"Really?" Kyle said, and Jodie started doing a silent prayer as she saw the way Kyle turned towards the cheerleader. "Explain that to us…"

"Well, you get to know all of the people that you're going to be doing soldier stuff with when you begin your training and you have to spend all of that time with them, so you know about them and their lives back home!" Brittany piped, twirling a lock of hair. "Like, if all of us were soldiers, then I'd know about Charles' brothers and sisters who are all twins, and Jodie's little sister and brother and how her mom wants to go back to work, and how Jane's got the HOTTEST brother who's a musician, and how Daria's mom's a big lawyer who wants to be a politician and her sister'll be a big-time model someday-"

"Miss Taylor."

"Well, if we were all in the Army, then we'd all be from different parts of the country," she said. "When we go to fight, I'm going to try to get the bad guys to keep my people alive. I'm fighting for them, and for the people around the country who I know about through them - and that's how I'm fighting for my country!"

"An interesting answer, Miss Taylor," Kyle said, and a glimmer of a smile cracked through the granite expression on his face. "We fight for our country when we fight for our friends."

He looked up at the clock. "Let's take what Miss Taylor said and make it into our next assignment, due in three days. I want two to five pages on that idea: 'What would you fight for?' Put some thought into it - and Kevin, if you need help, ASK for it! I don't want two pages describing how you're going to write the paper, and if I see that you're counting words or putting down nonsense to fill lines…"

He looked around the class. "Take off."

Kyle popped the top on another can of root beer; he noticed that Daria was still seated. "Is this going to be a civilized talk, Miss Morgendorffer, or should I get my body armor out?"

"You don't like me."

"I don't know you," he lied. "Tell me, why should I like you?"

Daria sat quietly, and Kyle came around to the front of his desk. "There's only one thing I know about you, Miss Morgendorffer. You don't seem to care about anything or anyone."

"I care."

"Do you?"

Kyle sat down on the front of his desk. "What would you fight for, Miss Morgendorffer? What do you care enough about that's worth taking a real stand, and not just doing because you're being stubborn and want to piss off your folks or whomever you want angry?"

Daria looked away from him. "What would you die for? Why should anyone believe you? Why should anyone place their life or the lives of those they care for in your hands? Why should anyone trust you?"

He looked at Daria for a long moment. "Think your answer over. Two to five pages, due in three days."

Kyle stood and left the classroom, leaving Daria alone with her thoughts.

I am really, really starting to dislike this class…

*****

The seminar continued on... and Daria's discontent grew, as did the exuberance of the other students, to her surprised disbelief.

Jodie's aggravation due to Sandi began to darken, and build upon itself…

Helen's discomfort with Lauriel in her husband's life became more palpable as Jake's persona became more confident, less unstable… and generally happier.

Upchuck's plan expanded and began to take shape.

Kyle watched over all of the students. He watched them work together and plan for the main event in the seminar, wondering with mirth and an unexpected burst of anticipation as to what the students had in mind for him. He hoped they would surpass his expectations, but regardless, he wasn't about to make it easy for them… especially not for Daria…

And two weeks passed.

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