FicWad

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Kenner and a bunch of animation studios. All I own is the situation, plot and backstory.

Author Note: If you're a M.A.S.K. canon purist, you may want to look away now. I'm playing a little fast and loose with one or two canon elements. I hope you can forgive me.

Story Note: This follows on from The Coming Storm. If you haven't read that, I strongly recommend you do as that sets up much of the back-story for this.

With many thanks to Jonath, Ganeris, Nessa and Angel for editing, feedback and patient hand holding.



What It Takes

One

The bar was only moderately busy as Buddy entered. A handful of people making an early start to their weekend. That suited him just fine. He didn't normally drink, but after the past two weeks, getting very, horribly drunk held an appeal. Maybe that way he'd be able to forget the mess his life was in. Maybe.

He made his way over to the bar and sank down onto the nearest barstool. The barman gave him an assessing look. For answer, Buddy simply dropped his faked ID on the bar. The barman glanced at it and grunted, "What're you having?"

"Gimme a beer," Buddy answered.

The barman grunted again, poured the drink and moved on.

Buddy stared at the drink for a while. The last time he'd been in a bar, Vanessa had been with him. So had Mac. They'd been celebrating the win in the racer competition. Now Mac was dead and Vanessa---

"Y'know I think it's kinda a crime to cry into a beer," said a voice.

Dully, Buddy looked round. Standing beside him was a brown-haired man of about his own age with a face that suggested its owner tended to go through life with a perpetual smile. He wasn't smiling at the moment, but Buddy guessed a smile wasn't all that far away.

Buddy wasn't in the mood. "So?" he bit out.

"So," said the man smiling and sliding onto the next barstool, "I'm figuring you need some cheering up."

"No thanks." Buddy turned back to his drink.

"Fine," drawled the man, his Texan accent becoming more pronounced. "You want to do miserable, I can do miserable too."

"You know what?" Buddy asked, turning to the man again. "When someone comes to a bar, maybe - just maybe - they're looking for peace and quiet. Not some freaking self-appointed--- Shit, I don't think I even have a word for you."

The man just lifted an eyebrow. "Peace and quiet. Right," he said, a surprising amount of sarcasm now colouring his voice. "So you've come to a bar instead of buying a bottle of cheap whiskey and sitting around in whatever hole you call home." Buddy gaped. "But sure, you want peace and quiet."

Buddy opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, unable to think of a suitable response to this diatribe. The man, clearly satisfied with his work, sipped his own drink and smiled again.

"Look, who the hell are you and why the hell are you bugging me?" Buddy finally asked.

The man stuck out a hand. "Dusty Hayes."

Buddy ignored the hand. "And you're bugging me, exactly, why?"

"You look like you could use a friend."

Buddy snorted. "Yeah well. The last one of those I had was murdered two weeks ago. You might wanna rethink that idea."

He was rewarded by seeing a wince cross Dusty's face. "She-it," Dusty mumbled. Then, oddly, he smiled. "All the more reason you need a friend now."

Buddy stared. "Can't you take a hint?"

"No," said Dusty. "Besides; nothing in life ever looks quite so bad when ya have a good pizza and a cold beer." He stood up. "And I ain't takin' no for an answer."

"You're---" But once again, Buddy found he didn't really know how to define Dusty.

Dusty, for his part, grinned. "You're what? On? Right? Buying the beer?"

Buddy opened his mouth, then closed it again. What was the point? "All right," he muttered. "I give up. I'll come quietly."

Dusty grinned. "Knew you'd see it my way in the end." He tossed some ones down onto the bar. "C'mon."



"I'm worried about Buddy."

Matt looked up from his work to see Sarah curled up on the couch and frowning heavily. "Any particular reason?"

Sarah stared at him for a moment, her frown slowly mutating into a look of complete outrage. "Matt, that poor boy is hurting badly about his sister choosing to go with Mayhem and all you can say is 'any particular reason'?"

"Ah, that." Matt winced.

"Yes, that." Sarah rolled her eyes and sighed. "You do realise that he's not back from the gas station yet?"

It was Matt's turn to sigh. He dropped his pen back on the table. "You do realise that all I've done is employed him? You don't actually have to adopt him as well."

"Matt, he's a kid who's never had anyone much look out for him, apart from Vanessa. Now she's gone and done this! You know, I'd love to get my hands on her and---"

"If you see her on the street, I want you to promise me you'll turn and walk the other way," Matt cut in. "No matter how you feel about what she's done, and believe me you're not the only one, she's dangerous." He picked up the sheet he'd been writing on and held it out to her. "If you needed proof of that, here."

"What's this?" Sarah asked, accepting it and starting to scan the page's content.

"It's a copy of a police report Duane faxed to me," Matt replied. "It's about a jewellery heist in Los Angeles." He sat back and folded his arms while Sarah read and watched as she winced. "She doesn't seem to have actually done anything to the staff there; that seems to have been entirely down to our old friend Bruno. But she was there. In fact, she seems to have been the only reason they actually got away with anything."

Sarah handed the report back. "I'd still like to kick her ass for what she's done to Buddy." She narrowed her eyes. "So would you, if I'm any judge."

Matt shrugged. "Of course I would."

"Then---"

"I'm worried about Buddy as well," Matt finished.

"What happened to 'all I've done is employed him'?"

Matt smiled wryly. "I know."

"Then you're going to do something."

"I've already done it."

But if Matt thought that was going to persuade Sarah to relax, he was soon disillusioned. "Matt, don't you think he's been manipulated enough?"

"Manipu---" Matt stopped and shook his head. "I'm not manipulating him." Sarah just stared at him, unconvinced. "I'm not."

"Then what've you done?"

"I told you about Dusty Hayes?" Sarah nodded. "He arrived in town yesterday and starts work for me on Sunday."

"So?"

Matt picked up his pen again. "So I think Dusty will be good for Buddy. He's impossibly up-beat. Either he'll piss Buddy off completely or they'll get on great. Either way, it'll give Buddy something to think about other than brooding, and right now, I think that's the best we can hope for."



Dusty's apartment was less than a block away from the bar. To Buddy's surprise, though, the whole place looked like a disaster zone. Boxes of junk covered most of the furniture and large tracts of the floor. He eyed it cautiously as he followed Dusty between the boxes towards the kitchen, which seemed to be the one area of the apartment that was tidy.

"Moved in yesterday," Dusty explained, pulling a bowl of dough out of the fridge as he spoke. "Haven't gotten round to unpacking yet."

"I can see that," Buddy replied.

Dusty chuckled as he turned the oven on to pre-heat. "I got my priorities ordered right, though. Ma always reckoned you get the kitchen fixed up good an' the rest could follow any time." Then, to Buddy's surprise, Dusty started, from scratch, to prepare a pizza.

Buddy watched in silent amazement as Dusty deftly spun the dough and turned it into a thin, even base pizza base.

"You know, when you said pizza, I sorta thought you meant take out," Buddy finally observed. "Or maybe frozen."

Dusty snorted. "Frozen pizza's gross," he pronounced, rapidly spreading tomato sauce onto the freshly spun base.

"It's not so bad."

Dusty snorted again. "You won't say that once you've had some of the good stuff."

"It's quicker," Buddy pointed out as Dusty started spreading cheese over the tomato sauce.

"That still don't make it good pizza," Dusty retorted. "Trust me." He slid the pizza into the oven. "So, you want a beer? I got some in the fridge."

Buddy glanced at the boxes that were decorating the apartment and the obvious state of unpacking. "Guess I'm sorta impressed you've got anything in the fridge at all."

Dusty shrugged. "Like I said; the kitchen's right an' ready. The rest ain't so important."

Buddy slowly shook his head. "Y'know, you're kinda weird."

Dusty grinned. "Sure am." He opened the fridge. "Oh, hey; if you don't want beer, I got coke, too."

"Since I'm figuring you ain't gonna let me get drunk," said Buddy wryly, "coke sounds great."

Dusty laughed and pitched a can in Buddy's direction. "Figured you might say that."

Buddy caught the can and looked at it. "Hey; this isn't coke!"

"Well, sure it is," said Dusty, puzzled.

"It's root beer," Buddy pointed out.

"Yeah," said Dusty. "Coke."

"No," said Buddy patiently. "Coke comes in a red can with a boatload of sugar."

Dusty shrugged. "All the same to me."

"I take it back," said Buddy. "You're not kinda weird, you're very weird."

Dusty grinned. "Well, sure." He flipped the top off a beer bottle and sent it spinning up and behind the fridge. "You want one of these?"

"You gonna let me get drunk?"

"Hell no."

"Guess I'm sticking with root beer, then," said Buddy cautiously opening the can he was holding.

"Guess you are," Dusty agreed. He gestured to the one armchair that didn't have boxes piled on top of it. "Take a load off," he directed.

Buddy sat down. "Why'd you come here?"

"Got a job offer," Dusty answered, shoving a couple of boxes off another armchair and sitting down himself. "I was working in Hollywood for Luigi del Gardo---"

"Who?"

Dusty grinned. "He owns a whole bunch o' pizza parlours right across the south - from San Diego to the Florida Keys, that's his slogan. His brother, Mario, opened up a parlour here maybe six months ago, but his pizza cook quit two weeks ago. Luigi asked me if I'd like the job. I said sure."

Buddy stared for a moment. "Lemme see if I got this right. You're Texan, right?" Dusty nodded. "You were in Hollywood, working at a pizza joint; the owner's brother starts one up here, the cook quits and they ask you to move here and be the pizza slinger."

"You got it," Dusty agreed.

"That's the dumbest---" Buddy shook his head. "I take it back. You're not weird, you're insane."

"Nah," said Dusty, grinning. "I just don't like Hollywood."

"Then why--- You know what, don't tell me," Buddy decided. "I kinda like my brain working." Dusty laughed. "So you're gonna be working downtown here?"

"Uh-huh. Luigi's on Valmont Road," Dusty replied. "Soon to be home of the best pizza outsida Italy."

"Says the cook, modestly," Buddy retorted just as the oven's timer started bleeping. "Sure hope this pizza's half as good as your boasting."

"It's better," Dusty promised.

Buddy remained dubious as Dusty produced the pizza with a flourish. He did have to admit it looked rather better than his own, frequently singed, efforts at cooking frozen pizza - the cheese looked perfectly melted, the base was beautifully golden brown and it all smelt fantastic. But that didn't mean it tasted good.

"Well dig in," Dusty invited.

Cautiously, Buddy helped himself to a slice and gingerly bit into it. To his surprise, the pizza was good. Something of his surprise must have shown in his face because Dusty's grin widened appreciably until it was of almost face-splitting proportions.

"See?" he drawled.

Buddy just rolled his eyes and gestured with his part-empty soda can. "If you're gonna tell me you told me so, I'm gonna stick this can where the sun don't shine."

Dusty laughed.

For the first time in two weeks, Buddy found himself cracking a genuine smile. "You were right; it is good pizza."

"Of course I was right," Dusty snorted. "So," he added, helping himself to a slice of pizza, "why were you hanging out in a bar?"

Buddy felt his smile fade rapidly. "I don't wanna---"

"You might not 'wanna'," said Dusty, his expression turning unexpectedly serious, "but you're gonna anyway." Buddy lifted an eyebrow. "Shoot," said Dusty, "you're just a kid - if you're over twenty-one I'll eat my best hat - and I don't care what you say, no kid should be thinkin' about crying into a beer." Dusty paused. "How old are you, anyways?"

"Eighteen tomorrow," Buddy admitted.

Dusty blinked. "Shee-it; you're even more of a kid than I was thinkin'." Then he stopped and shook his head. "I guess I ain't in too much of a position to be castin' stones. I left home to go to Hollywood when I was barely eighteen. An' I'm figuring you hate being called a kid anyhow."

Buddy blinked. Dusty was clearly more perceptive than his easy-going demeanour suggested. "Then why do you keep calling me that?"

Dusty shrugged, a little apologetically. "I guess cos that's what I first figured you were. So, what's so bad you wanted to risk getting into trouble with the authorities over drinking underage?"

Buddy sighed. "Can't you just let it go?"

"Nope," said Dusty. He stood up and headed back into the kitchen. "You want another soda?"

"Sure." Buddy leaned forwards and took a second slice of pizza from the dish, wondering if he could pretend the root beer was alcoholic if he tried hard enough. He judged that there was going to be no distracting Dusty from this self-imposed mission; he just wasn't sure he wanted to explain it all while being stone cold sober.

Dusty handed over the can of soda and sat down again. "So?" he prompted. "What brought you to a bar tonight?"

"You're impossible." Buddy groaned. Dusty just picked up a slice of pizza and looked expectant. "Look; I had this huge, big-time argument with my sister. She---" Buddy stopped. How did he explain what had happened two weeks ago without dragging in VENOM and top-secret government agencies? "We've both done some, some less than legal shit." Buddy snorted. "I have a criminal record that probably would stretch between here and New York. I'm no angel. But what she's done I--- I can't agree with and she can't see that she's wrong. Writing shit on a building just don't compare to hanging out with guys who're prepared to cold-bloodedly shoot someone."

"Your friend," Dusty guessed. "Your sister went with the folks who did that, right?" Buddy nodded. "Shoot. That's some messed up shit right there." He paused. "I got myself three kid sisters, they're all still in junior high, and I don't know what I'd do if one o' them pulled something like that." He smiled briefly. "Kick her butt good, prob'ly!"

Buddy tried to picture himself doing that to Vanessa and failed. They were too close in age for that to have ever worked.

"But, y'know what? I reckon Ellie, Billy-Jo or Martha would come back round eventually, even without me kicking their butt. And maybe your sister will, too. I don't think you can just give up on her. Sure, she ain't thinkin' too straight right now, but who knows how she'll be thinkin' two weeks from now."

Buddy snorted. "That'd mean she'd admitted she was wrong."

"Ah," said Dusty knowingly. "Stubborn, huh?"

"As hell," Buddy agreed. "And always right."

Dusty grinned. "Sounds like my brother Ben."

Buddy started to reply, then stopped and frowned. "You got a brother and three sisters?"

"Two brothers," Dusty corrected. "And there's a baby on the way."

Buddy stared. "Seven kids?"

Dusty grinned. "M'dad came from a big family and always figured he'd have a big family too."

Buddy tried to imagine what life was like with that many siblings and failed dismally. He shook his head. "Wow."

Dusty grinned wider. "They're all younger than I am, 'fact Ben was born after I headed west. But it was kinda a zoo for a while."

Buddy shook his head again. "It sounds it."

"Anyhoo," Dusty continued, turning serious again, "from what you've said, I don't guess there's a whole hell of a lot you can do right now, 'cept be willin' to let your sister come back. Guess that don't help much, huh?"

"Not really."

"But neither does goin' to a bar and drinking yourself under the table," Dusty pointed out. "You might forget the shit for a while, but come the morning you remember it all again, and you get to be sick as a dog as well. It ain't worth it."

"I know." Buddy sighed. "Mac'd probably kick my butt for it."

"Your friend, right?"

Buddy nodded. "I swear he's 'most the only reason I ain't in jail."

"You weren't kidding about being no angel, huh?" Dusty looked amused.

"Mac bailed me out way too many times," Buddy admitted. "Thing is, with my record? Cops here figure I had a hand in it just because I saw it happen. So everyone keeps looking at me, like they're expecting me to suddenly, I don't know, make the same choice m'sister did. And I'm tired of it. I just wanted one night where I could forget about it. Even with being sick as shit tomorrow."

"And getting picked up for being under the influence is gonna raise the local police department's opinion of you how?" Dusty pointed out dryly.

"I never said it was a good plan."

Dusty helped himself to the last slice of pizza and frowned. "What you need's something else to think about for a little while." His expression brightened. "An' I think I know what, too."

Something told Buddy to be cautious. "Oh?"

Dusty grinned. "You doin' anything tomorrow?"

"I've got a tonne of work and---"

"First off, tomorrow's Saturday," said Dusty severely. "Second off, didn't you just say tomorrow was your birthday?"

"Yes, so and?"

"So you don't work on your birthday; you do fun stuff." Dusty was adamant. "You don't actually have to go to work tomorrow, right?"

Buddy slowly shook his head; almost wishing Earl had the gas station fully open over the weekend.

"Right, then. Tomorrow, you're gonna do something fun, an' something I figure you ain't done before," said Dusty. "You know where Luigi's is on Valmont Road?"

Buddy nodded. Not that he was planning on telling Dusty about it, but the convenience store he'd tried robbing was right across the street from the pizza parlour. "What about it?"

"Meet me there at ten o'clock tomorrow morning," said Dusty, grinning. "Trust me, you're gonna have fun. Oh," he added, "and you might wanna wear stuff you ain't gonna mind getting wrecked."



It had been late by the time Buddy finally returned to the mansion, and given the conversation with Dusty, he'd fully expected to sleep badly. But he hadn't. He'd fallen asleep almost the moment his head had touched the pillow and would have still been asleep now, but for the pounding on the apartment door.

He flopped over onto his back and squinted blearily up at the ceiling. Under normal circumstances, the Trakkers left him to his own devices first thing in the morning, and even in the last two weeks, they hadn't checked up on him this early. So why was someone looking for him this early today?

Yawning, Buddy rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door, vaguely wondering just what time it was, anyway. He opened it and blinked owlishly at Matt, who had his hand raised in preparation to knocking once more. There was a brief moment of the absurd, when Buddy wondered if Matt was about to actually punch him in the face, then Matt lowered his hand.

"Sorry," said Matt sheepishly.

Buddy just blinked. "Uh?"

"We were wondering," Matt continued, "if you'd like to join us for breakfast this morning."

It slowly filtered through Buddy's sleep-fogged mind that the invitation probably had something to do with it being his birthday. He hadn't expected Matt and Sarah to take much, if any, notice of the date, if any at all. He blinked again. "Uh, sure."

Matt looked amused. "Guess you're not so much awake yet, huh?"

Buddy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Not so much."

"Well, breakfast's in about half an hour," said Matt. "That OK?"

"Sure." Buddy was fairly sure that he could manage to be properly awake by then.

Matt nodded. "All right; see you then."

As Matt headed back down the stairs, Buddy closed the apartment door and headed straight for the kitchen. If he was going to be fully awake inside half an hour he was going to need the strongest coffee he could brew.



Three cups of coffee so strong it could more or less support the spoon and a hot shower later, Buddy made his way down to the dining room. He still wasn't fully awake, but at least he was in a condition where he wasn't likely to make a complete idiot of himself. He hoped.

He was, however, more than a little surprised to see not only Matt, Sarah and Scott in the dining room, but also Alex. He blinked and wondered if his initial assumption, that this was somehow connected to his birthday, was correct.

"Good morning," said Alex.

"Uh hi?" Buddy answered, feeling oddly nervous.

"Come in, sit down and help yourself to pancakes," Sarah advised. "Ignore those two," she added, inclining her head towards Matt and Alex. "I don't know what they've got planned but it is not more important than eating."

"I think we've just been told off again," said Alex with a theatrical sigh.

"I think you might be right," Matt agreed, chuckling.

Buddy slowly shook his head as he sat down. Was everyone he knew little insane? He smiled faintly and helped himself to a couple of pancakes from the stack as Sarah had ordered. Maybe a little insanity was no bad thing. He made a start on the pancakes and discovered he was actually hungry. Breakfast wasn't normally a meal he bothered with.

"Now that's taken care of," said Matt, "happy birthday."

Buddy smiled. "Thanks." To his surprise, both Matt and Alex produced gift-wrapped parcels.

"It is, I believe," said Alex with a grin, "customary to receive gifts on one's birthday."

"This," said Matt, offering the parcel he was holding, "is from Sarah and myself."

Given little alternative, Buddy set down his fork and accepted the parcel. He stared at it for a moment or two; was he supposed to open it here and now? Sarah gave him a fractional nod, as if to answer his confusion. Carefully, he slit open the paper and drew out a large, thick book about vintage cars. It was an edition Mac had owned at the shop and one he'd coveted on several occasions. On a sudden suspicion, Buddy opened the cover. There, printed on the flysheet, was Mac's name. This was Mac's copy. How...?

"Mac left it to you," Matt explained quietly. "His will stated it was to go to you because you were 'someone who knew how to appreciate it'."

Buddy swallowed, hard, to try and rid himself of the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "Thank you," he whispered.

There was a moment of slightly awkward silence, then Alex said, "I rather hope you won't consider this a comment on your timekeeping."

That was enough to derail Buddy's otherwise maudlin thoughts. Setting the book down carefully on the floor, he accepted the much smaller box that Alex was holding out. Once again slitting the paper cautiously, he drew out a small, flat, plastic box of the sort that he'd seen jewellery come in. Bemused, Buddy opened the box and discovered he was looking at a rather expensive digital watch.

"I---" he began.

"It is custom designed," said Alex, "and specifically water and goo-be-gone resistant."

A custom designed watch? Buddy blinked. How on earth could he accept that? Even if it would survive the rigours of being his watch, it had to be far too expensive a gift. He opened his mouth to say so.

"Call it a perk of the job," said Matt with a wink.

Buddy closed his mouth again. It felt wrong to accept such an expensive gift; on the other hand, Matt's implication was clear: The watch was more than just a watch. Does that mean it flies, too? he wondered irreverently as he set the box down on the table. He mustered a smile. "Thanks."

Alex smiled. "You're most welcome."

"So," said Sarah as everyone began eating once more, "are you planning anything fun today?"

"I don't know," Buddy admitted. The more he thought about the night before, the sillier it sounded. He didn't know Dusty beyond what little Dusty had said about himself and there was something about the story the Texan had told, as to why he was in Boulder, that just didn't quite add up. Given VENOM and Vanessa, he ought to be more suspicious and less trusting.

"You don't know?" echoed Matt.

"Well I should---"

Matt held his hand up. "If you're about to say anything connected to Firecracker, Condor or engineering projects in general; don't." He grinned. "Unless you really want Sarah locking you out of the garage."

Buddy stared at first Matt, then Sarah. "But I---"

"Spend far too much time down there and don't get out into the sunshine nearly often enough," finished Sarah. "Today, at least, you are not going to spend every second down there."

"If I were you," said Alex confidentially, "I'd give up now."

"Besides," added Matt, "you ought to know that the test driver arrives tomorrow. Might as well have some fun today."

Buddy blinked. An obvious explanation for the hole in Dusty's story presented itself. It couldn't be that simple, could it? "Test driver? You found one?"

"Yup," said Matt. "He's an ex-stunt driver for Parafilm who's got quite a reputation for being able to pilot or drive anything."

Buddy grinned. Dusty hadn't said the film industry was the reason he'd been living in Hollywood, but it made sense. "What's his name?"

"Dusty Hayes."

Buddy looked down at the remains of his pancakes. "I'm looking forward to meeting him, then," he managed. Maybe he'd explain tomorrow.



An hour or so later, after taking his gifts up to the apartment and changing into some of his oldest clothes, Buddy headed into Boulder to meet up with Dusty. As he drove down Valmont Road, heading for Luigi's Pizzeria, he still wasn't convinced this was exactly a good idea, but since Sarah did seem perfectly serious about kicking him out of the garage, and given Dusty wasn't a VENOM gent, he couldn't think of anything better to do. And maybe Sarah did have a point, seeing as he wasn't sure when he'd last done something purely for 'fun'.

To his relief, Dusty was standing outside the pizza parlour, waiting. Buddy pulled up along side the curb and climbed out of Firecracker. "Hi," he called.

Dusty jumped. Then stared. "That's your truck?" he exclaimed.

"Uh, sorta," Buddy answered.

Dusty eyed Firecracker dubiously. "Sure hope you know a good mechanic."

Buddy grinned. "Yeah, I know one of those." Then, seeing Dusty was still looking dubious, he added, "That would be my day job. Fixing this up's a side project and I've been kinda busy." Dusty didn't look all that reassured. "So what is it you're dragging me to?"

Still casting uneasy glances at Firecracker, Dusty mustered a grin. "We need to be in Glenwood by noon."

"Glenwood." Buddy sighed. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Now where'd the fun in that be?"

Buddy just rolled his eyes. "Get in," he directed.

Dusty eyed Firecracker again. "Is it safe?"

"Look at it this way," said Buddy climbing back into the truck's cab. "If it's not, you're not the only one gonna be wiped out. Right?"

"There is that." Dusty climbed into Firecracker. "Well, all right; let's go."

The drive from Boulder to Glenwood was enjoyable. They more or less had the road to themselves, which suited Buddy nicely and, once he'd relaxed about the condition of Firecracker, Dusty kept him entertained by telling improbable stories about his numerous siblings. Little by little, Buddy began to relax. This would be all right.

When Dusty directed him into the parking lot of an outdoor activity centre on the edge of Glenwood, though, Buddy's worst fears about exactly what Dusty had planned resurfaced.

"Can you swim?" Dusty asked as Buddy parked.

"Uh, yeah," Buddy answered cautiously. "Why?" Although even as he asked, Buddy realised he could guess.

All Dusty said was, "You'll see."

Resigned, Buddy followed Dusty in to the centre.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself several miles up-stream on the Colorado River wearing a life jacket and a crash helmet. In front of him, a lightweight rubber dingy bucked and bounced against the rope securing it to the jetty.

Buddy looked from Dusty to the boat and back again.

"You want me," he said slowly, "to get in that," and he waved a hand at the boat, "and travel down stream, through the rapids?"

"Y'uh-huh," said Dusty, nodding. "It'll be fun."

"You're nuts," said Buddy flatly.

Dusty grinned. "Y'uh-huh," he agreed. "But you'll enjoy it. Trust me. Besides," he added, "unless you want to walk back, how else are you gonna get back to your truck?"

Buddy looked at his friend. "I take it back. You're not nuts, I am."



Contrary to his own expectations, Buddy did enjoyed travelling down through the rapids. He'd ended up utterly soaked, but with the sun being hot - and the fact that Dusty'd had the foresight to bring a couple of towels - it hadn't mattered that much, and although most of the journey had been a variation on complete terror as far as Buddy was concerned, it had been three hours where he'd been able to completely forget everything.

He'd dropped Dusty off back at Dusty's apartment, with the promise that they'd hang out later in the week, once Dusty'd got a little more settled in, and the headed back to the mansion, tired but far more relaxed than he'd been in a long while.

Unfortunately, as Buddy now climbed out of Firecracker and attempted the stairs up, out of the parking garage, he discovered that the afternoon's fun had come at a cost. Muscles he hadn't known he owned complained bitterly and made simply walking difficult and, from the way his back was beginning to ache, he suspected he'd got at least one bruise across his lower back from being slapped back against the edge of the boat.

"What on earth have you been doing?"

Sheepishly, Buddy looked up and saw Sarah regarding him rather curiously. "Um. White water rafting."

"White. Water. Rafting." Sarah slowly shook her head. "That sounds like something Matt might do."

"I don't think it's going to be a hobby for me. Once was enough," Buddy mumbled as he finally reached the top of the stairs. The next time Dusty suggested something 'fun', he was going to have to find a really good excuse not to join in!

"Oh, I'm with you there," Sarah agreed with another shake of her head. "Do you want some painkillers?"

"I've got some," he answered. "But thanks."

"Well, the offer's there if you need it." Sarah started to continue on along the hallway then stopped. "Did you at least have some fun while you were doing it?"

Buddy laughed, then winced as he discovered an additional selection of strained muscles. "Yeah, I did actually."

Sarah smiled. "Good."

She headed off in the direction of her studio and Buddy proceeded to hobble up the stairs to his apartment. With a thought that Dusty would probably complain about him eating it, Buddy put a frozen pizza into the apartment's oven, swallowed a couple of Advil pills and then made for the desk and sat down.

There was one other thing the afternoon's activities had provided him with. So far, MASK could tackle VENOM by air and by road. Maybe it was time to come up with something that could cover for the places where there were no roads. On a fresh sheet of construction paper, he started to sketch out a plan for a vehicle that could, literally, take on all types of terrain. Even water.



He was still working on the design, which he'd mentally started to dub Gator, the following morning when there was a knock on the apartment door.

Chewing on the end of his pencil and frowning at what he'd got so far, he absently called, "It's open."

"Good morning," called Matt, entering the apartment. "Busy?"

"Uh, kinda," Buddy mumbled, not looking round.

Matt chuckled. "Well, I just thought you ought to be here to meet the test driver, is all."

That got Buddy's attention. He blinked and craned his neck, half expecting to see Dusty standing with Matt.

"He's down in my office," Matt added. "I'll introduce you."

Buddy gratefully dropped his pencil back on the desk and stiffly stood up. "Sure."

Matt favoured him with a look. "Are you OK?"

Buddy smiled ruefully. "Better than yesterday evening."

"Should I ask?"

"It's a long story."

Shaking his head, Matt led the way out of the apartment and down to the office. Buddy followed; he suspected this was going to be entertaining.

"Dusty," Matt began as they entered the office, "this is our vehicle specialist, Buddy Hawks. Buddy---"

"Ho-ly!" exclaimed Dusty, cutting Matt off. "I guess you must be a mechanic after all."

Matt blinked. "You know each other."

"We've met," Buddy agreed, grinning.

Matt slowly shook his head. "Well, since we don't need introductions, I guess we should get down to work." He opened the office door. "Follow me."

Buddy followed on behind Dusty, still grinning. It was probably going to be the only time he ever got the jump on both Matt and Dusty, but somehow, Buddy didn't mind too much. He suspected Dusty's presence was going to liven things up quite dramatically. And that's no bad thing.



TO BE CONTINUED