Chapter 16

Shifting sands and a wall of dust made their way through the barren desert during the nightly sandstorm. The size of the dunes varied and caused the wind to vibrate the air space between them which made a howling noise that morphed with evil frequency. There were no living creatures on the surface of the desert as it would have meant their immediate death from exposure to air that no natural filter could make any animal lung safe from the dust.

As dangerous as it was, a single soul was out in the blowing dust. Dr. Talcuin was wearing several layers of protective clothing and had a filtered mask covering his head. He was setting up his targeting system to measure its performance under the harsh conditions.

This particular experiment was setup to verify that his targeting system could locate one of three sample targets scattered in a 10 km radius. The target discs had been placed earlier in the week before the storm was predicted to hit the area.

Dr. Talcuin had a difficult time setting up the ruggedized computer attached to the targeting system equipment and the sand was severely limiting his field of vision.

Chapter 15

Chuck finished up in the camper's restroom and took the liberty of using the sink to clean his face and ears. He looked in the mirror and was surprised to see his face. It was worn and leathery from his constant exposure to the harsh desert environment. He then looked down into the basin of the sink and saw the dirt and grime from just washing his face. He went out to the main room of the camper, and took one last look around. He grabbed his aluminum bat and carefully peered out of the back door window before attempting to open it. He didn't see anyone or hear any noise and figured it was safe to open the door. He opened it and smelled the fresh air of the Wal-Mart parking lot. Chuck stepped down off of the camper truck and looked around.

Bill and Ted were no where to be found. There was a small pool of blood near the spot where Chuck had dragged their bodies, but they were not there now. Chuck decided it would be best to get the fuck out of there. He would have to lay low for a while in case those two cops were looking for him. Chuck walked to his hiding spot for his aluminum bat and re-hid it. He then started his walk to the park to find an empty bench for the rest of the night.

Bill and Ted did not have an easy night. After being attacked and knocked unconsious, they were found by a Wal-Mart parking lot security guard who was patrolling the parking lot. Red was a big guy and was immediately suspicious of the two males laying on top of each other sleeping on the concrete parking lot. He first tried to wake up the two guys and get them to leave. But, they wouldn't wake up, so he went over to them and began shaking them to see if he could wake them. They wouldn't wake up, but Red was sure that they were still alive. He saw some bruising around their heads and decided that there must have been a fight and this was the result. He dragged each man onto his security patrol golf-cart and slowly drove to the security gate at the main building. He then pulled each into the security detention office where he was able to prop each man into his own bench seat. He locked the door and waited for them to wake up.

Bill and Ted awoke to a white flourescent room and throbbing headaches. They saw a huge man outside of the detention room and did not recognize him. They reached for their FBI badges which they were amazed that were still in their pants' pockets. Bill and Ted slammed their badges against the window and shouted for the man to let them out. After an embarrassed and apologetic Red told them how they ended up where they did, they immediately went over to the camera room to review the tape from earlier to see if they could identify their attacker.

“It had to be some homeless guy hanging out in the parking lot.” said Bill.

“Yeah, that guy stunk pretty bad.” added Ted.

“This pine tree has been a problem in this parking lot for years, but management won't remove it. Says it would be detrimental to their reputation in the community.” said Red.

“Well, we're not going to find this guy by looking at a tree all night.” said Bill

“Let's get out there and do some foot work.” agreed Ted.

It was the first time in weeks that Bill and Ted had actually agreed to follow the same course of action without any animosity between them. They left the Wal-Mart security office with Red and rode the security golf-cart back out to the scene of the crime.

Chapter 14

Twenty-five years ago there were no explanations for the sightings of of unidentified flying objects. There were plenty of theories and a handful of circumstancial evidence, but the quality of this data was no match for the digital revolution taking place today. Now, almost any hand held device was capable of recording an event and the number of events seemed to sky-rocket as they could be recorded, uploaded and shared within minutes of their occurrence.

Monkey-Bob Joe had a fancy cell phone that could take pictures and movies. It also had a speakerphone so he could yell for help if his arms should be vaporized by some hostile alien. He wasn't exactly sure if this particular scenario would actually benefit him in any way, so he took it upon himself to have alien space drills in the park after sunset.

Monkey-Bob Joe would go to the park after sunset because it was usually empty for a few hours before the amateur sports leagues began using it for sporting competitions. He would run full speed into the soccer net so that he would fall and become momentarily tangled. This would simulate the instantaneous vaporization of his arms. Of course, prior to net impact, Monkey-Bob would throw open his cell phone so that it was less than a meter from his impending entanglement. He would then yell at the top of his lungs the command to place a call and the name he wished to call.

“Call Toaster!” yelled Monkey-Bob Joe.

When Toaster received calls after 7pm from Monkey, he usually knew that it was a drill.

“Monkey, you there?” asked Toaster.

“They got my arms! My location is Paradise Park! Send help immediately!” yelled Monkey-Bob Joe.

“Ok, dude, calm down...is this a drill?” asked Toaster.

“Yes.” admitted Monkey “I was just checking, and you know, one of these days you're gonna have to actually come out here so we can do the rest of the drill Toaster.”

“Ok Monkey Man, how about next Tuesday?”

“Great Thanks Toast. Check ya later!” and that concluded the drill.

Monkey-Bob Joe also had a certain reputation for smoking too much pot and doing a little too much meth. He claimed that he needed to be awake and alert for the invasion. But his drug abuse was causing him to hallucinate more frequently and he started recording events that he thought were UFO sightings, but most of the time they were regular everyday things that only looked alien to his damaged and demented brain. Flashing construction lights, highway traffic viewed from the middle of the highway, which almost got him killed, and strip mall advertisements all fed his growing dementia.

Monkey-Bob Joe had a vehicle at one point in his drug addicted life, but it was thankfully towed away after he nearly took out several cars one unfortunate day on a busy highway as he drove up the wrong side of the highway. He claimed that he was following a government planned escape route during another alien invasion drill. What actually happened was extremely bizarre even for Monkey's fucked up life. Monkey-Bob Joe was quietly watching television when the emergency broadcast signal caught his attention. The 30 seconds of tone were ignored by most people, but Monkey heard explicit instructions directly from the federal government. It went something like this:

“This is a government sanctioned space alien invasion drill. Get in your vehicle. Drive toward the nearest highway. Evade alien attackers by entering the highway following the 'Wrong Way' signs. Ignore oncoming traffic as it is computer simulated holography so you can practice under stressful conditions. The drill will end when you arrive at the Kentucky Fried Chicken on Main Street.”

Monkey-Bob Joe could hardly believe what he was hearing. An actual government sanctioned drill and it was going to take him to a restaurant whose food he was actually craving.

Fortunately, Monkey only got about 5 meters past the first 'Wrong Way' sign before he was stopped by a line of cars slamming on their brakes as they decellerated from about 85 km/hr to 0.

Monkey could not explain why the government directed holograms were as solid as concrete or why the virtual beings inside the holographic cars were threatening to beat the shit out of him. Thankfully, the highway patrol arrived and quickly hauled Monkey-Bob Joe to jail.

Chapter 13

The fact that Bill and Ted were constantly at each other's throats did not help their situation. They were supposed to file a report with headquarters once a week, usually on Mondays. But the rest of their week was spent in that little trailer. It was also not unheard of for them to be out of communication with headquarters for some time given the semi-undercover nature of their work. The special agent in charge hadn't heard from Bill and Ted for 6 weeks now. It was getting to the point where he was going to have to spend some of his budget to send some agents to their last known location and knock on the fucking door. But not yet, there was some real activity going on in another part of the city and Bill and Ted's little fuck-up operation would have to wait.

Chuck was the first one to hear the arguing from outside the secret FBI camper shell. At first Chuck thought he was actually hearing voices. Then he put his ear up to the side wall of the camper shell and realized the noise was coming from inside. Then he got a surge of adrenaline as he realized that these two jokers were arguing about food. What he wouldn't give to pop these two assholes in the head for a bite of chicken, or any of the other tasty items he heard being talked about in argumentative tones. Something had to be done. Chuck wandered slowly over to the over-sized trash can near all of the campers and reached behind it where he stashed his only prized possesion, an aluminum softball bat. He found it a few weeks earlier and realized that somebody bought it, but promptly forgot about it as they were in a hurry to drive off to where ever it was they had to go. Puzzled about what he should do about the shiny new weapon, he hid it until he could decide what would be the right thing to do. And right now the right thing to do was to get some damn food in his belly. Toaster wouldn't be here for another few days and he couldn't wait any longer. His eggroll binge two nights ago just made his hunger grow exponentially, it would have been better had he faced his alien overlords to face his ultimate destiny. But, here he was, with a bat and a plan. He positioned himself on the left side of the camper door and gave it a good solid whack.

Bill and Ted not being able to stand the other's company professionally or otherwise both went for the doorknob at the same exact time and were not paying any attention to who or what might be on the other side. Bill was able to jump out first, but he faced Ted who had his body half out of the camper as he shouted to Bill.

“What the fuck is your problem?” asked Ted.

Then Bill and Ted simultaneously turned toward their attacker as they got a whiff of urine and body odor so strong, Chuck may not have needed a bat to knock them both out at the same time.

Chuck pulled their limp bodies off to the side of the back of the truck where they wouldn't be easily seen. He then climbed into the back of the camper shell and shut the door tightly behind him. When he turned around he thought for a moment that he had unwittingly boarded the alien spacecraft that would be coming to pick him up sometime in the near future. He froze and slowly looked around at all of the equipment, computers and blinking red and green lights. Then he saw a small rectangular mini-fridge and knew that this equipment was cop shit, but that fridge would have cop food in it. He lunged for the refrigerator and opened it. To his delight it was full of left over treats and he sat on the floor and stuffed himself. He looked up and saw a cabinet that he felt was sure contained chips and other junk food. Chuck didn't know how much time had passed since he started eating, but he felt his stomach start to rumble as it expanded once again to accept his second food-binge in less than a week.

The pain hit him deep in his gut. Chuck knew that this quantity of food was causing his pain, but it was also causing him great happiness as his hunger gave way. He suddenly became aware that he needed to have a massive bowel movement. Clutching his belly for comfort, he staggered toward the narrow door that was the camper's restroom.

Chuck couldn't remember the last time he saw an actual clean, white toilet seat. As a bonus there was a giant 12-pack package of toilet paper. He dropped his multi-layers of clothing covering his ass and sat down almost simultaneously exploding his lower intestine through his sphincter. The smell was overpowering, but not as powerful as the sense of relief that washed over Chuck as he held his head in his hands and wept.

Chapter 12

Dr. Talcuin was out for revenge. Revenge against society for kicking him out of academia without knowing the full story. Revenge for the corruption that permeated every facet of modern civilization. He wanted to make his voice heard, so that it would be heard around the world and be remembered for generations. Dr. Talcuin knew from his extensive research that he could successfully achieve his goals, but he needed time. Almost everything was in place, but he need time to verify that the quantities of Phosphorus were great enough to reach a critical point of ignition. It was going to be the equivalent of a match head striking against the abrasive match book ignition strip, but on a much, much bigger scale. All of his detection equipment told him that the ingredients were present, the conditions were ripe, and his plan was actionable. The only item he lacked, was something that he would be able to build, but it would take time. He would have to create another research program at the fire science academy and find some ex-junkie to help him run it. But only Dr. Talcuin would get the credit. Only Dr. Talcuin would be labeled the evil-genius behind the horrible sight set before the eyes of the world. Only Dr. Talcuin would be able to say that he was the man that set the moon on fire.

Chapter 11

Unbeknownst to Dr. Talcuin, Toaster, Chuck or even the Wal-Mart security task force, the FBI was stationed inside the camper shell of a truck that had been parked in the Wal-Mart parking lot for going on three months. Bill and Ted had been assigned to drug activity surveillance and to each other as partners from the beginning of their FBI careers. There was a lot of laughing and snide comments when they both appeared for duty on the same day.

“Hey guys, Bill and Ted are here for duty!” said one agent.

“We'll send them to investigate our most heinous crimes!” joked another.

After most of the jokes had been made, the other agents in the office kept making them. It was too coincidental for two new guys to show up on the same day and have their names be the same as the two goofy characters in the '90s movie comedy. Bill and Ted were assigned as partners together and meth surveillance was definitely a most non-non-heinous duty. Unfortunately, Bill and Ted did not get along personally as well at their movie star counterparts. While on duty, they were able to function and take data and observe possible suspects, but it was the little moments during breaks or at meal times when the two began arguing like an old married couple.

“You want anything from the store?” asked Bill during one late night surveillance break.

“Yeah, how about a nice top sirloin, medium rare.” said Ted sarcastically.

“Ok, Ted, I was just asking. If you don't want anything just say so.”

“Well, excuse me. I do want a steak because I'm tired of all this heat and eat shit.” said Ted.

“You know that I can't get you that. Your choices are the same as every other night we've been stuck here.” reasoned Bill.

“Fine, get me a diet coke, and a couple of cans of spaghetti-o's.” said Ted.

“Ok, was that so bad?” asked Bill as he carefully checked for traffic before leaving the camper.

“Fucking asshole.” muttered Ted when Bill was out of earshot.

A short while later, Bill returned to the camper with Ted's requested items as well as two bags of chips, a pint of ice cream and a few pieces of deli-ready fried chicken. Ted eyed Bill's food suspiciously.

“Well how the fuck was I supposed to know that they had fried fucking chicken?” said Ted.

“I asked you what you wanted and I got it. If you were interested in the deli specials, you could have asked me to find out.” replied Bill.

Ted was furious and bottled it up inside as a good FBI agent would. He glared at Bill the entire time during their meal break. He opened each can of spaghetti-o's and ate them cold even though the camper had a microwave. He sipped his diet coke and when the urge struck, he burped half-digested pre-processed pasta across the small interior of the camper shell. It stunk pretty badly, but Bill had spicy pork rinds which were fragrant enough on their own to give him a slight buffer from Ted's burp smells.

Ted's aggression did not go unnoticed. Bill crunched loudly on his pork rinds and slurped his fingers as he relished in his fried chicken delights. Then Bill slowly ate his chunky chocolate chip ice cream making sure to smack his lips after every sugary bite. After their 20 minute meal break was over, they put away their food items and utensils and each turned to their individual computers to go back to work.

The tension inside the camper was thick and explosive. Any further hostility between the two men could have sparked an all out brawl despite each having been through extensive training and testing for stressful situations such as these. If anything real, such as a drug deal or otherwise, were to happen, there was no telling how they would react.

Chapter 10

The most annoying noise ever created has to be the sound of a whining spoiled brat. The brat gets everything and anything that the brat wants, so when these conditions are not met, the whining begins and it will not end until the brat is satisfied with some appeasement.

Whining spoiled brats can be found in just about any corner of the globe. Most are found in the US, but it is as if the whining meme has spread throughout the world. The exceptions would be 3^rd world countries or oppressive dictatorships where whining is not only punishable by death, but is also controlled by starvation and public beatings. However, the fact that a 3^rd world country does not have as many or any whining spoiled brats of its own doesn't really mean anything because the US is perfectly capable of exporting these terrors to just about any location.

The parent or parents of these terrors are the ones that should be publicly ridiculed until they can control themselves and discipline their own children. The whining spoiled brats should be monitored with a shock collar that can be activated by sending a text message of “spoiled brat” and the GPS coordinates of that brat so that the microwave shock sattelite can locate the kid's collar and give them a mild, yet stern physical punishment for their misbehavior in public.

However, getting the parent or parents of these spoiled kids to permit the use of these shock collars would be difficult at best.

Chapter 9

The five stages of body odor are essentially: preventative, accumulative, obstinate, uncontrolled, and beyond repair. Preventative describes the stage where an individual strives to control their BO on a daily basis by showering and using deodorant or otherwise paying attention to their personal hygiene. Accumulative is the stage where an individual has a mild or publicly noticeable odor due to socially acceptable circumstances such as a weekend of binge drinking, a week-long camping trip, or a few days of home improvement activity. Any odor during this period of usually 2 – 5 days and given that the appearance of the individual coincides with their current activity, is strong and bad-smelling but socially accepted due to the conditions under which they occur. The next stage however, is obsitance, where an individual's activity does not coincide with their noticeable level of body odor. This would occur if a person has reached the accumulative stage from a long weekend of inactivity or inattention to personal hygiene simply because they have not taken the time to do anything about it. Then, they decide that they are going to visit a public place such as a grocery store or shopping mall and everyone around them turns their nose in disgust because these people stink like shit, yet they are dressed in normal clothes and are walking around without concern and wonder why others are curt with them or do not want to deal with them otherwise. If the individual's body odor goes unchecked at this point, they may have a malfunctioning brain given that they are unable to detect their own level of stinkiness. The obstinate person may finally do something about their condition either on their own or by virtue of the fact that they shower themselves before going to work on the next available weekday. However, the uncontrolled individual, due to their inability to detect or otherwise pay attention to their own personal hygiene, may not have the fortunate situation of having a job or other event in their life that would require them to bathe or wash themselves before going out into public. The only thing that would help an uncontrolled individual's body odor is the fact that they will probably get picked up by the police for some criminal offense and be forced to wash themselves when sent to jail. The final stage of body odor is called beyond repair because the conditions that would warrant such stage are usually so extreme that it would take a miracle to be able so drastically change the person's situation so that they would be able to maintain their personal hygiene. An example of this extreme situation would be homelessness. Chuck smelled so bad, that he couldn't even bring himself to the homeless shelter for assistance. He smelled like a toilet and sewer. He smelled like the lobby of the No-Tell Motel known for its hourly rates and no questions asked. Chuck had pissed himself so many times, his pants were crusty with dried urea salts. He shat in his drawers so many times that their original color was unidentifiable. He knew that he smelled, but he was powerless to control it. Chuck had reached the fifth and final stage of body odor, it was beyond repair.

Chapter 8

“All you have to do is crank out one kilo a month.” said Choony matter-of-factly.

“Right.” agreed Toaster.

“Ok, so you're gonna need at least two dozen healthy females and probably the same number in your nursery on a continual basis.”

“Right.”

As they proceeded to draw up the plans for the growing operation, Toaster had no idea what was about to happen if they pursued this deal to its end. It is not everyday that you strike a deal with the devil.

Choony's last foray into the drug world was for personal reasons, but the main one being that he knew he could get more hours at his second job as a convenience store clerk, if he could stay awake. Meth was a possible solution, but he was going to have to be careful because he didn't want to end up toothless, in jail or dead. He figured he could safely intake a gram a week and still be ok. He would try it for a few months and then see how much money he could actually make. The problem however, was that a gram a week was too much for a newbie like him to make himself or even ingest. If he had succeeded, he would have been dead by the end of the first month.

Where Steve Choon failed at making meth, he excelled at growing pot. Choony and Toaster were able to put together one of the most sophisticated growing operations in Tucson. The yield was much lower than any street credible growing operation, but they had only one customer and this guy was good for the money. They would be profitable and all they had to do was keep the pot in the professor's pocket.

Chapter 7

Mr. Nomo worked his way up the firefighting food chain from the time he was able to join until the time he was forced to retire. 35 years of service, thousands of fire calls, and all it took was one shit-storm to screw it all up. The call came in as they usually do, at 3 in the morning, when most of the fire house was asleep and had just gotten comfortable after handling the last call from which they returned only 3 short hours ago. The alarm bell rang and roused them to their equipment and fire trucks. Sirens blaring, they headed out to the call. It was a house fire in a well-heeled neighborhood. Initially, it was thought that the fire was started by the careless use of an incense burner in a teenager's bedroom. With all of the flammable clutter surrounding the ignition source, it didn't take long for the fire to get out of control.

When Captain Nomo's truck arrived on the scene, there were already three police cars and an ambulance on the scene. The presence of the police concerned him at first, but then again he didn't have time to worry about them right now, he could see flames licking the eaves of the roof.

Firemen quickly set up the hoses and started to attack the visible flames and smoke. But then, Captain Nomo was informed that the house was the site of a possible meth lab and that extreme caution was needed so that the possible presence of flammable chemicals did not cause an unecessary explosions. Nomo didn't quite know what to make of that information, because the whole house was going to go up and if they didn't act quickly enough, the fire was going to take out the homes adjacent to the house on fire.

Captain Nomo gave the order to proceed fighting the fire and his men broke down the front door and most of the front-facing windows in order to try to flank the fire and kill the fuel source. All of a sudden there was a huge explosion that blew out the rest of the windows in the house and consequently set the nearby houses on fire.

Nomo quickly observed that he had a cluster-fuck on his hands. He was unable to reach his point-men fighting the fire from the inside and he had to assume that they were taken out by explosion. He called for backup, but the nearest fire crew was a good 30 minutes out. He had to take drastic action with the tools and the men he had left. He sent two teams to the houses nearby that had sustained damage from the explosion, and he helped a third team fight the fire on the first house so that they could at least get close to find the three guys that went inside.

After 3 grueling hours, daylight began to light the sky and Nomo's world was coming down around him. All three firefighters had died inside the house as a result of the explosion. One of the three was his son Jeremy. Grief and fatigue were taking their toll on Nomo and he was almost ready to just walk away from the entire scene.

Days later, a third party investigation had determined that Captain Nomo was at fault for pursuing the fire despite being warned about the presence of possibly dangerous chemicals. Of course it wasn't fair, what was he supposed to do? Stand there and watch the whole neighborhood burn down until it was “safe” to fight the fire? Ridiculous. He was asked to take early retirement and several years went by before he was even able to talk to people about what had happened. He was disgusted that it could come to this, but he buried his feelings well and was able to distance himself from the events, even his own son's death, and come to terms with what public officials had labeled a gross negligence of duty. That is when Mr. Nomo decided that he would combat this absurdity, by establishing his own fire science academy so that he could still have an influence on the next generation of firefighters.

Chapter 6

This is the point in the novel where I, the author, talk directly to you, the reader, for a few sentences or paragraphs because let's face it, the story up to this point is kind of fucked. Who the hell are all these people and what the fuck are they doing in my story? I didn't want it to get to this, but it seems to be the quickest way to drum up some word count. I have to be honest here. The story sucks right now and I have no one to blame but myself. Thanks for reading up to this point, because if you have you must be the kind of person who likes to subject themselves to water torture and other annoying behaviors that would drive most people insane. Yes, that is a slight insult to you my friend, but who am I kidding? It's also an insult to me for not being able to focus on the damn story and write something worth reading in the first place!

I don't know really what to tell you at this point. The story may continue or it may not. I may have to wipe everyone out with a freak nuclear blast or I may have my characters limp along for a while until a freak nuclear blast occurs and then wipes them out. But the truth of the matter is, I need a shit load of words in order to reach my goal, and my lame-ass story isn't really going anywhere. Anyway, I just wanted to get that off of my chest because I am sitting here trying to figure out how the story and the characters are going to continue from here and I really don't know. It may be a few chapters of me complaining before I wander back to the actual story that I started with. If you don't mind, I think that is the course of action I will pursue. Again thanks for reading and what can I say? Bear with me!

Chapter 5

The truth is, everybody lies. You can't get through life without telling lies and you can't get very far in life if all you tell are lies. A damned if you do or damned if you don't scenario. It's what the philosophers call a paradox. Example, you go to the car dealership to get your car serviced, but you decide to wait in the waiting room for them to finish because it's only going to take about 45 minutes. But before you can even sit down, a salesperson approaches you to inquire a few details of your car. Yes, you can ignore him and go sit down on the comfy chairs to watch television, or you can give him the false belief that you might be interested in upgrading to a newer model. Is this really so bad?

You go with the salesperson, but instead of taking you directly to the lot as you had discussed, he takes you inside the dealership building where he wants you to sit down while he asks you a few questions. Now who has lied to whom? You answer the questions and finally go out to the lot where all of the shiny new cars are parked. You find one you like and the salesperson starts asking you questions that can only lead to one conclusion. But, he senses that you are a flighty individual and suggests that you go for a test drive because you still have half an hour to kill before your own car is ready. Next thing you know you're driving a brand new car down the road and all you did was say yes when you should have said no. But again, who had lied to whom?

Chapter 4

Toaster went to class the following day and met up with Dr. Talcuin in the RPD lab afterwards. As they began checking the data from the night before, they quickly noticed the spike in Phosphorus levels around midnight.

“How many meth operations are going on around here?” asked Toaster.

“It's not all meth labs, there are other conditions that could cause Phosphorus emissions. In fact it is possible that we recorded a huge natural event where large quantities of P were released somehow into the atmosphere.” stated Talcuin.

“Won't that make the job more difficult for the cops?” asked Toaster.

“Maybe, but that isn't our concern. We're just identifying the levels and trying to correlate them to actual locations. It may or may not help them, but it definitely helps us.” said Dr. Talcuin.

Toaster began to get the idea that the Doc was more into this detection program for some other purpose, but he wasn't exactly sure what. It was cool though to be able to see how this one element could be tracked throughout the city almost as easily as tracking the weather.

“We need one more control group.” Dr. Talcuin said out loud as he thought to himself.

“If we could consistently produce a certain level of Phosphorus, we would be able to verify that our measurements are accurate.” he continued.

He then gave Toaster a list of substances to analyze for their capability of producing traceable amounts of Phosphorus. Toaster's job was to take each substance and measure its P level. Dr. Talcuin left the lab and Toaster went to work. Most of the substances were rock shavings or little piles of fluff. Each was labelled with a reference number, so Toaster was really not aware of what each one was. Except for item number 3773, he knew the instant he removed the cap from its translucent plastic container. It was good old fashioned marijuana. The sight of the weed gave Toaster an instant flashback to the last time he lit his pipe as he sat in disbelief. But the real shock was when he tested it and it gave off a steady detectable rate of Phosphorus. And then he knew. He immediately left the lab and rode home. Toaster realized that Dr. Talcuin was out of his mind. Then the questions began to race through his mind, why would a fire science professor need some noname to make drugs for him? For what purpose? Why all of the secrecy and large amounts of cash? Was this an elaborate setup? The only thing to do was head over to Choony's place and chill.

“So, let's say you keep growing the shit for him.” Choony reasoned, “and let's say that he ends up turning you over to the cops, have you got any evidence against him that would help you out later?”

“Just the note, but nothing that connects him to it.” said Toaster.

“What about the money itself?” asked Choony.

“What about it?”

“Well if he's been handling Phosphorus and handling your money, maybe that detection equipment can link the two together.”

“Yeah, but I've been handling Phosphorus as well. I could have linked the two.” said Toaster.

“Ok then, where does he get the money?”

“Well, that's probably what we need to figure out.” said Toaster.

“Ok, let me help you put your hydro lab back together buddy!” said Choony rather enthusiastically.

Chapter 3

The solar flare erupted at midnight Mountain Standard Time. Unfortunately for Chuck, this particular moment happened to be right about the time that he awoke from his restless sleep. He had only been asleep for a couple of hours anyway, but for a homeless man on the streets of Tucson, that was an eternity. As Chuck opened his eyes, he felt the hunger in his belly. It had never been this bad before, but tonight for some reason, the hunger pangs permeated his entire body. The need for food spread from his stomach to the rest of his upper torso and through his arms and legs. He sat bolt upright and his newspaper blanket ripped itself between his body and the bench he was sleeping on. Tonight he was going to do it. He was going to open up one of those dumpsters behind the Golden China restaurant and find some damn hell eggrolls.

Chuck looked around to see if anybody was near and then he noticed out of the corner of his eye, a soft wisp of cloud against the black starry sky. He turned his head toward the cloud and noticed that it seemed to be moving or pulsating much faster than regular clouds. Then a burst of green and purple light caused him to drop his jaw in fright as the light cloud seemed to grow stronger toward him. He got up and began to run toward the Golden China. He found the dumpster behind the restuarant and opened it up. It stank of rotting vegetables and sweet and sour sauce. The smell was overpowering, but he glanced once more over his shoulder at the alien light cloud and saw that it was changing colors and moving closer toward him. He leaned over the side of the dumpster while holding on to the lid so that it shut when he fell in amidst the decaying remnants of yesterday's all-you-can-eat buffet. He used one hand to pinch his nose and steadied himself with the other on a pile of cold and greasy feeling sponges. He pulled one of the sponges near his face and in even in the darkness of the dumpster, he could tell that these were eggrolls. He had hit the jackpot, now all he had to do was avoid the alien takeover of the planet.

When the atmosphere of the Sun expresses itself in the form of a solar flare, there is not much anyone on Earth can do, but observe and comment on the event. Solar flares are studied by scientists and classified with a rating depending on how violent the event is. The solar flare causes a huge flow of energy to be directed toward the planets in the solar system. When the energy flow gets to Earth, only minutes after such an event, it reacts with the Earth's magnetic field and produces an aurora effect where light can be seen from the heavens. If one is unfamiliar with the causes of this effect, they may take matters into their own hands and assume something else is causing it to happen. Naturally, Chuck assumed that it was an alien takeover of the planet because a few years ago, he had been abducted by aliens and they told him that they would return for him one day. Chuck's abduction occurred in a remote desert area 50 km south of Tucson. It is true that he had been hunting for peyote pods, and that he had attempted to make a peyote drink, and that he had ingested some of this peyote juice which caused him to lose consciousness. But when he awoke from that affair, the vision he had was as clear as any other tortured memory. Four beings had visited him and informed him that they were aliens from another planet in another galaxy. At first, they let him talk and tell them who he was and beg mercy for his life. Then they began to talk to him and give him instructios on what he should do with his time on Earth before they returned to pick him up. Part of those instructions included meeting a man named Toaster in the Wal-Mart parking lot and collecting a package from him which he was not to open, but to deliver to a mobile home parked on the outskirts of town. Once delivered, a bag of alien food and drink would be given to him.

Chuck was astounded at the generosity of the alien beings. He asked why they had chosen him. They told him that it was not them who had chosen him but the Universal Concatenator that had identified and located him for them. The UC had also told them that he was essential to the completion of their mission objectives. Chuck then inquired as to what the mission objectives were. The aliens told Chuck that actually, there was only one mission objective and after much discussion, they decided to let him in on it: collect every molecule of Phosphorus in the universe and deposit it in a secret location. Chuck did not know what Phosphorus was, but he was cool with any mission objective that did not directly threaten his existence.

As Chuck sat in the dark dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant and reflected on his experience with the aliens, he conceeded that it was more of an alien visitation rather than an alien abduction. It was the pre-meeting before the abduction or the abduction planning meeting or something to that effect. Chuck was surprised at how many eggrolls were in the dumpster. How had they found their way here? Did people not like eggrolls anymore? Were these poisoned eggrolls? As these questions raced through his mind, he ignored them because the eggrolls tasted so good. Because they were wrapped and fried which had a slight perservative effect, they tasted like decent, good, clean food except for the fact that they were cold and greasy, but that just gave Chuck something extra to lick off of his fingers.

After stuffing himself, he realized that he did not want to spend the night in the dumpster because the smell of the other garbage was beginning to get to him. He hadn't heard any noises outside of the dumpster, so if the aliens were coming for him tonight, they weren't right here for now. He slowly lifted the lid of the dumpster and peered out into the night. The alien lights in the sky were no longer visible and he proceded to exit the dumpster. Chuck began to walk back toward the park where he had been sleeping. Another evening here on Earth he thought. How many more did he have left?

Meanwhile in a mobile home on the outskirts of town, a bonanza of information had just been automatically recorded. Phosphorus emissions were spiking in several areas of the city. Dr. Talcuin and Toaster were going to have quite a bit of work to do after class to pinpoint each spike in data and determine if the locations corresponded to their previous measurements.

Chapter 2

Phosphorus is described as an element that is essential to healthy cells in all living organisms, yet under certain circumstances, it can be instable, volatile and deadly. It cannot be found by itself in nature, yet its presence is unmistakable in the building blocks of the construction of living cells and in the make-up of rock and other minerals found on Earth.

Experiments with Phosphorus date back to the late 17^th century where certain enterprising individuals discovered a method for producing Phosphorus so that it could be experimented with. The most unique of these methods involved the collection of large quantities of human urine which was allowed to sit in the basement for several weeks until the putrid smell of rotting flesh could be detected on the upper floors of the residence. This bucket of slime was then taken to the next level of processing where it would be slowly heated until the urine could be distilled and the white waxy residue left from distillation could be safely collected. This white waxy residue was what is now known as White Phosphorus.

Toaster rubbed his eyes after reading the informational brochures that Dr. Talcuin had given him in preparation for his work with the Remote Phosphorus Detection program. Toaster was also given a few websites to follow up with so that he could get a better sense of how important Phosphorus was and why detecting it was of special interest to law enforcement agencies.

One rather interesting website described the actual process involved in creating methamphetamines. Of the several methods, the one that generated the highest yield involved the use of Red Phosphorus which was a derivative of White Phosphorus. Unfortunately for the neighbors, any individual without the correct knowledge of the handling of Red Phosphorus could easily blow themselves up and take out a few other homes in the process.

Toaster knew of only one guy who ever tried to make meth. His name was Steve Choon, or Choony as he was called by his friends. Choony knew all kinds of shit. He was in the Army where they taught the fucker how to make bombs out of regular household supplies. They also taught him how to discipline his innate ability to take things apart and put them back together in such a way that the thing always had some new added feature. Usually these features were intended to either facilitate the self-destruction of said thing or behave in a way that the authorities found criminally dangerous. One fine example of Choony's work was the animated entertainment band at the Chuck-E-Cheese. Choony had a job there where he made sure the “band” kept playing normally throughout their busy schedule of birthday parties and soccer team celebrations. Any malfunction could permanently scar some kid mentally or worse, physically if anything was out of whack. Singing off key, arms flailing in a threatening manner, electrical problems and other mishaps were all left to Choony to fix.

On a particular weekend during the busy summer months, a group of kids at a birthday party ordered way too much pizza, which would have been ok except for the fact that the idiot who ordered way too much pizza also ordered shit on the pizza that kids don't like to eat such as mushrooms and olives. After satisfying themselves on the regular cheese pizzas, and after playing through most of their tokens, the only thing left to do was use the mushrooms and olives as ammo at the other patrons of the restaurant and the animated electronic band. Choony got to the scene too late and his band was covered with all kinds of unspeakable gooey nastiness. This wasn't what upset him though. What upset him was an irate parent of one of the unruly kids who had approached him to complain that she was promised a cake large enough to feed 30 kids and 12 adults, but there was only enough cake for the kids. Choony rarely lost his cool because he knew his abilities when it came to getting even. He told the woman that he would take care of it immediately as he left for the workroom. He quickly re-tooled the animatronic band and put on some high-energy techno music. He then phoned the kitchen and asked for another cake delivery to the head party table. They always had extra cake stored in the walk-in refrigerator. Then Choony sat back to watch the fun. As the kids and adults began digging into their second cake with gleeful happiness, the Chuck-E-Cheese bandstarted popping and hissing to the techno music. Too busy with their cake to take notice, the band started to violently shake and twist so that mushrooms and olives were flung back at the audience. First a scream, and then panic. The room was full of food and fury and Choony's revenge became legendary.

Choony was also responsible for Toaster's hydro setup. Initially, Toaster was going to go with 100W bulbs and a full-on plant-nursery water filtration and irrirgation system. But Choony was able to convince him that an array of red and blue LEDs with a low-water usage evaporative sponge would not only cut down on costs, but also keep his utility bill down. Toaster agreed with him and was amazed at the quality of the plants he was able to grow in only six weeks. With the improvements in the supply of light and nutrients, Toaster also found out that if varied the day and night schedule with a timer on the LEDs, he could grow more female plants which were better at producing the all important hash. Unfortunately, the whole operation came to a halt when that sack of money showed up.

The note simply stated the desires of a crazy person: 1 kilogram of product per month delivered as specified below, will reward you with what you see here. This is no joke, and I am not a cop. I need your particular strain of plants for my own experiments. If you are interested, bring the first delivery to a man named Chuck in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart on 8^th Street. Chuck is homeless and covered in filth, you can't miss him. He is also not a cop. Your cooperation will make you a rich man.

Of course this was total bullshit. That is why Toaster took his lab apart. If someone knew about it or if Choony told someone, he was busted pure and simple. Maybe not by the cops, but busted nonetheless. Some whacked out individual thought they could just waltz the fuck in his special area and drop off some cash so he would grow shit for them? Fuck that. Toaster didn't even smoke that night. He was too spooked. He went out into the cool summer evening air and went over to Terra's house. He knew she would have some good food to eat and would give him a nice place to crash. That bitch was as crazy as them come, but she could be nice when her multiple boyfriends weren't trying to out-dick each other.

When he got to Terra's place, she had just finished making a huge pot of pasta with vegetables. It was some kind of wierd-ass hippie food, but it looked and smelled good, plus she had honest-to-goodness garlic bread. He didn't know who she was cooking for until some dork came out of the hallway bathroom. He looked like a brand new narcotics officer who couldn't tell his ass from his elbow.

“Hey, how ya' doin'?” he asked Toaster as he held out his right hand in a friendly manner.

“Fuck, let's eat.” responded Toaster as he smiled and shook the dork's hand.

They seated themselves at the kitchen table as Terra served them each a heaping pile of pasta. She wasn't wearing a bra and when she hugged Toaster a third time, thanking him for stopping by, he reminded her that he didn't actually have anything on him and that it was great to see her too.

“Mmm, good dinner hon.” said El Dorko.

“No problem coochie-pie!” she giggled as Toaster rolled his eyes.

“So you guys are cool with me crashing here tonight?” asked Toaster.

“You can sleep in Casandra's room, she's out at her boyfriend's place tonight.” said Terra.

“Cool, thanks.” said Toaster.

The only problem, was that Cassandra's room was fucking purple with some kind of fluffy white fake bear rug complete with a head, four paws and a tail. At least she had a queen-sized bed with clean-smelling sheets. Toast hit the sack and let the stress ease from his mind as he fell asleep.

Across town, under a star-lit sky, Charles carefully folded three layers of newspaper around his body and rolled the corners of box for his pillow. Another night in paradise he thought. Another night without any damn food either. For Charles, every day began and ended with the constant reminder of hunger. He had a whole bag of tricks to help keep it at bay during the daytime hours, but when he lay down to go to sleep and when he awoke, the pangs were hostile. During the day, he could act crazy and watch people watch him. He could dance and shuffle aournd the sidewalk. He could mumble and rant and move his arms to and fro. He could stare down a tree or a bush until he saw flames. But at night, he had one special vision that momentarily quelled his hunger so that he could try to sleep for a few hours. He closed his eyes and imagined one perfect meal set before him. Meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. Corn on the cob and green beans. He could imagine every detail, every tasty morsel. And then, to help himself go to sleep, he imagined a horse walking toward his lovely dinner and dropping shit all over it. Appetite gone, for the moment, Chuck fell asleep.

Chapter 1

Toaster was worried about the large bag of weed stashed in the front of his shorts between his boxers and his lower abdomen. When Toaster worried he ate. He also had a powerful hunger brewing since he smoked a pinch of his stash less than an hour earlier. He settled into his red plastic bench seat at the Mickey-D's inside the Wal-Mart where he had been killing time before his meeting. Toaster polished off two Big Macs and a side of fries to satisfy his cravings and was nervously studying the Wal-Mart greeter who was passing out smiley-face stickers and making goo-goo noises at the kids following their parents or guardians inside the store. Toaster glanced at Ronald's watch on the wall and decided it was time to head out to the parking lot to meet Chuck. He adjusted his package, donned his shades, grabbed his cherry coke, and left the cool air-conditioned interior of the Wal-Mart.

Outside the temperature change was dramatic which Toaster first noticed by the blast of heat hitting his body with the full force of a blow-torch on steroids. The second indication was when the ziplock bag inside his pants began chaffing him as the instantaneous sweat on his skin came in contact with the plastic, causing a sticking sensation that felt like the unholy marriage of bare skin and pre-heated vinyl covered seats of a car baking in the sun. He quickly made his way to the meeting place which was in the parking lot's security camera blind spot by the big pine tree where the camper trucks and RV's were parked. Toaster immediately knew he was in the right place because he could always smell Chuck before he could see him. The pungent smell of body odor and urine were all too familiar as he began to hear the rambling words and shuffling feet of Chuck whose physical appearance was more than noticeable yet went unnoticed due to his unsavory social status as a homeless individual.

It is not without great concern and mistrust that one dude can just blindly hand-off his rather substantial and expensive stash to another dude who looks like he would take the shit and never be seen again, but Toaster and Chuck had performed this ritual many times before and trusted that each would be fulfilling their side of the secret bargain and receive their desired rewards momentarily. As Toaster passed by the stench and unsightly mess of Chuck, he reached for his bag and handed it off.

“Don't try to put the lights on T-Man, it's too dark.” Chuck mumbled as Toaster stood and watched him hide the package in his layers of dirty brown clothing.

“See you in a few days Chuck.” said Toaster as he left the parking lot and headed for his bicycle, parked at the convenience store across the street. He got on his bike and pedaled slowly home trying to avoid any further discomfort from the heat of the day.

The first time it happened, Toaster was freaked out and began to doubt his self-control with regard to his casual drug use. But the unusual arrangement began with the appearance of a donation of hard cold cash in his amateur hydroponics lab. Having a large sum of money turn up in your supposedly secret drug lab is not exactly settling to one's fear of getting busted, but there was a note that seemed to explain the situation. The note wasn't enough at the time and the whole thing was spooky enough for Toaster to disassemble his lab and quit smoking for a few months. However, it wasn't until Toaster met the Professor that he began to accept that he could find true immortality by cooperating with him.

The Desert Fire Science Academy in Tucson, Arizona was a small school established in the late 1980's by a retired fire captain and a chemistry professor who had been driven out of mainstream academia by his lack of ability to acquire enough research money for the institution he no longer worked for. The two of them taught prospective firefighters the in's and out's of fighting fires as well as the whole range of information they would need to know before applying to any firefighting outfit in the entire United States. They covered everything from administration to rescue methods and most importantly fire science. The study of what makes a fire live and breathe. Knowing this beast meant knowing how it lived so that it could be killed when they were called upon to do so. Although some of their teaching methods were overly dramatic or unusual, they had a decent success rate and were able to help find work for most of their students upon graduation.

Day 1 of fire science school was typically the day that students faced the reality of their decision to pursue a career in firefighting. As they entered the classroom, Dr. Talcuin greeted them and welcomed them to a new career as Mr. Nomo closed the door to the mobile home that served as the school's only building on the 81,000 square meters of private land on the outskirts of the city. The intent of the day's lesson was to imprint the most fundamental tenet of fighting fires...live to fight another day. Although, when the smoke began to pour through the vents of the mobile home, the students began to panic and start to get the hell out of the room. The professor could usually tell who would go for the door first, but on this particular day, Toaster surprised the hell out of him.

“What the hell is this?” shouted one of the students.

“You guys are fucking nuts!” yelled another.

Toaster slid out of his chair-desk and held his lighter up to the sprinkler above his head. This immediately kicked on a shower of water and everyone in the room gasped in surprise.

“Thank you, Mr. ?” asked Dr. Talcuin.

“Everyone calls me Toaster.” said Toaster.

“Very well, then Toaster, great job. Everyone, outside please.” said Dr. Talcuin.

As they exited the mobile home, another, identical mobile home was setup about 50 meters away. It wasn't there when they arrived and generated a few hushed discussions as the soaked students began to walk toward the new building.

They assembled themselves in the new building and some shook their heads at the strange idea that their instructors would set the classroom on fire for teaching purposes. A few left the soaking mess of the original building for the parking lot to get in their cars to drive home. But Toaster and many others stayed. They listened intently as Dr. Talcuin began speaking.

“Fire, itself, is the combination of 3 essential ingredients. All are equally important, because the absence of any one ingredient will kill the reaction and fail to produce a fire. The fuel is anything that contains enough carbon based molecules to keep the reaction going. The oxidizer is anything that contains enough oxygen based molecules to keep the reaction going. And the heat source is the spark that starts the reaction and keeps it feeding on itself until one of the 3 cannot sustain the fire any longer. Fuel, Oxidizer, and Heat. That is fire. A chemical reaction that can be controlled or allowed to run wild. Under any circumstances, it should never be underestimated. It follows only one rule...live until it cannot live. Your job, is to end its life.”

Mr. Nomo took his turn next. He described the 2 year curriculum to the students and outlined what they would be working on in the coming months and how they would conduct themselves. Physical training and mental conditioning were also required so that the firefighters could prepare for the worst disasters imaginable. The keys to survival were going to be earned through hard work and determination. They would have to learn to work together and overcome any obstacle set before them. As they had just witnessed, any situation was fair game and they could be tested at any moment. In 2 years time, they could become ready for anything.

After class, Toaster prepared himself for the long bike ride home. If he had decided to sign up for this firefighting gig, he was going to have to stay clean. No more late night binge parties or house hopping looking for another hit. He was going to have to force himself to do it. But after his first pop quiz since high school, he felt confident that he could change his ways and actually make a meaningful contribution to society.

Dr. Talcuin then pulled him aside and asked him a question that made his blood run cold.

“We have a research project that is ongoing in conjuction with our instruction at the academy and we'd like you to help out with our Remote Phosphorus Detection program.”

Toaster was astounded that anyone would dare approach him for such a seemingly complex task, but he was also excited that another opportunity had presented itself for him to show that he could change and make a difference.

“When do we begin Doc?” asked Toaster.

“Meet me here after class tomorrow.” said Dr. Talcuin.

He continued to explain that the RPD was a highly experimental program that if successful would assist law enforcement with the eradication of methamphetamine labs and other drug cook houses that posed a danger to the general public.

Toaster had never messed with meth, but he knew its effects. He also knew that he was very glad that he had previously disassembled his own growing operation just in case this little project was in any way capable of implicating him of doing anything illegal. Toaster had already dodged one bullet when he passed the required drug test during the fire science academy application process. He didn't need to make dodging bullets another bad daily habit.