“I wouldn't mind that,” Bigelow said. “If you wouldn't.” He waited, fearing that she would angrily refute the notion.
Paula considered. Then she smiled. “Your place or mine?” But then she reconsidered. “What is your other option?”
“To go where they are evidently driving us, up that elevator, and take the bull by the horns, as it were. Then we'll know.”
She considered again. “I like the way your mind works. Why were two rather ordinary people like us chosen for this?”
“My guess is it's an experiment of some sort. To see how well their system works. We're of no account; safe to try it on, maybe.”
“To see how well they can herd us,” she agreed. “If it works on us, then they can refine it for more important folk.”
“Maybe it's a secret government project,” Bigelow said. “Maybe if it works, they'll need to hire more hands to run it.”
“Like us!” Paula agreed. “My job is so dull I can't stand it. I'd love some adventure.” She turned her eyes to him. “And maybe—”
Bigelow nerved himself and said it: “And some romance. If I had a girl who was interested.”
Paula smiled. “You have one, Bigelow. I might not have noticed you on the street, but after this experience, I'm in.”
Bigelow's heart was thumping for joy. “Then shall we go brace the lion's den, together?”
“Let's.” Then she thought of something. “After this.” She put her arms around him and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Then, together, holding hands, they marched into the alley, heedless of any more illusions.
“Disco
very”
First there was a falling safe that barely missed him, then a car that almost ran him down, then a rabid dog. What was going on? Trying to escape a collapsing wall, then a fire in the street, Bigelow opened a convenient door and entered a hall. There he met a young woman, Paula Plain, who had been driven here by similar illusions. Illusions? The threats weren't real?
The two of them verify that these are targeted illusions that no one else can see. She can't see his fire, or he her rattlesnake. They help each other get past their illusions. They are sight and sound, not substance. They can be safely ignored.
But who is doing this to them, and why? They decide to go where the illusions lead, and find out. And they kiss. Because they like each other. Neither was interesting enough for romance, before, but they are together in this adventure. So, together, holding hands, Bigelow and Paula march back to where the illusions are herding them.
That completes the original story, for those readers who didn't see it before. Tough luck, for those who did read it.
"I'm scared," Paula said. "Do you really think this is wise?" She was actually rather pretty in her uncertainty.
"No. I think it's foolhardy," he said. "The kind of thing I never did in real life. Which means—"
"Which means we'd better do it," she agreed. "Because otherwise we're both locked in our nonentity."
"Yes. But we don't have to do it. Not if you don't want to. There are other ways to find excitement."
She looked at him. "Other ways?" Then she blushed. "You mean—Romance?"
"Well..." Then he blushed. "Not if you don't want to," he repeated, with a changed context. "I just thought—never mind."
"But I'm so skinny!" she protested, looking down at herself. She really needed reassurance.
"Slender," he said. Actually she was thin, but it hardly mattered whether she was thick or thin. She liked him, and he liked her.
"And I'm not beautiful, or sexy, or smart, or anything," she said. "I'm the original wallflower. I'm not worth your while."
Bigelow surprised himself by doing something way beyond his social competence. He kissed her.
Paula kissed him back. "Oh!" she said. "I guess that shuts me up. I just meant that—"
"I'm not handsome or smart or anything either," he said. "You're just right for me."
Her blush deepened. "Do you really want to—to go to my apartment? Now?"
Bigelow was sorely tempted. But several things held him back. "I'd really like to," he said carefully. "But—"
"But we have to see about braving the lion's den first, or we'll never do it," she said. "I reluctantly agree."
That had not been his thought. He was concerned about not measuring up to whatever expectations she might have. But it would do. "Onward to the lion's den," he agreed. They resumed walking.
"That dialogue," Paula said. "It reminds me of something. But it's not exactly relevant. Sometimes I make these obscure connections."
They had been talking about love. Suddenly he was intensely curious about what she was thinking of. "What is it?"
"Well, it was in some magazine, about how during World War Two, married American soldiers were getting interested in British girls. And of course their wives didn't like that. 'What do those girls have that we don't have?' they asked. 'Nothing,' the men replied. 'But they've got it here.'" She smiled a bit wistfully. "I've got nothing, but I've got it here."
Bigelow wasn't sure whether to laugh. He didn't want to agree that she had nothing. "That's cute. But you do have something."
"Thank you. But I think that's the point, as you said before. We're pretty much nothing, so they can experiment on us."
"Except that maybe now we have figured it out, so we're not being blindly herded anymore."
They were approaching the door into the building. Bigelow paused. "I wonder if there are others?"
"Others? Oh, you mean other victims? I mean subjects. We can't be the only ones, can we?"
"I should think if it's an experiment, they would want to have a number of subjects. Because people can react differently."
Paula nodded. "Yes. We reacted differently, and were able to help each other get past our particular illusions."
"Maybe they are being staggered," Bigelow said. "That is, a new one started every ten minutes, so they don't bang into each other."
"But we banged into each other," Paula reminded him. "So to speak." She colored slightly, remembering their kisses.
"How fast were you herded? If you went right along, instead of fighting as I did, you could have caught up to me."
"I was pretty fast," she agreed "I mean, being herded. I just wanted to get away from the threats."
"So we could have been staggered," he said. He smiled. "And not just by the kiss."
"Not just by the kisses," she agreed. "Let's do another, just to be sure."
He gazed at her. She had a thin body, a modest bosom, brown hair, and faded brown eyes. She was beautiful.
"But only if you want to," she said quickly. "I don't mean to be pushy. I'm not a pushy person. I'm more like a mouse."
"I was admiring you," Bigelow said quickly. "You're absolutely lovely." Then before she could protest, he kissed her soundly.
She melted in his arms. "No man ever lied to me like that before. Thank you." Then she disengaged. "Time to go, if we're going to."
"This isn't over," he said. "But yes, we can't afford to dally any longer. But after this I think I'll fall in love with you."
"If you do, I'll do it too." Then they opened the door and entered the hall, half expecting to find another person there. But there was only the elevator.
Bigelow paused. "Let me check something." He went to the far door and opened it.
Sure enough, there was a big hairy caveman with a club bearing down on him. He shut the door in the brute's face. "The illusions are still herding us," he said. "I just wanted to be sure. Before we do what they want."
"Of course," Paula agreed. "We were so busy talking, and stuff, that we tuned out the illusions."
They went to the elevator, which was open, and stepped inside. It immediately started rising.
"I'm frightened again," Paula said. "We really don't know what to expect when we get there."
"Whatever it is, it shouldn't be too bad," Bigelow said. "Why should they take so much trouble to herd us, if they mean har
m?"
"To see if we are smart enough to escape?" she suggested timorously. "Or too stupid to catch on?"
"We're neither smart nor stupid," he said. "We were selected to be ordinary."
"That's why we were chosen!" Paula agreed. "Because we are so dull nobody notices us." She frowned. "But how do they do it?"
"They must be focusing a beam on us, to project the illusions," Bigelow said. "That means they can see us."
"How?" Paula asked. "I don't see any mobile cameras around. And why are they specific to each of us?"
"No cameras," Bigelow agreed. "So there must be receivers in us, somehow, to get our particular illusions."
"I don't remember getting anything put into me," she said. "I think I would have known if someone poked into me."
Bigelow repressed a wicked thought about how he would like to poke into her. "Except maybe a doctor."
"Or an eye test!" she exclaimed, lovely in her animation. "I had a free eye/ear test last month. Did you?"
"Actually I did," Bigelow said, remembering. "It was pretty thorough. They said my eyes and ears were fine."
"Me too. I didn't need glasses or a hearing aid, so they couldn't sell me any. Yet they didn't seem disappointed."
"Because those tur—um, jerks weren't really trying to sell anything. They were implanting receivers for illusions."
"I think your first word is better," she said. "Those turds were making us involuntary volunteers in their experiment."
"Isn't that an oxymoron?" he asked. "Involuntary volunteer? But I see what you mean. That's when it happened."
"It's the army volunteer system I read about," she said. "I need three volunteers: you, you and you."
Bigelow laughed a bit hollowly. "That's the system all right. I guess they didn't ask because that would ruin the surprise."
"The wonderful surprise of being threatened by a falling safe or a rattlesnake or a fire," Paula agreed.
"So this is either illegal or super-secret," Bigelow concluded. "We'll soon be finding out." He paused. "How about—"
"My thought exactly," she said, stepping into his arms for a kiss. "While we have a bit of privacy, maybe."
"Oh, Paula!" he said. "They may be turds, but they did us the huge favor of putting us together. That makes it all worth it."
"I agree," she said, squeezing his bottom. She laughed when he jumped. So he squeezed hers. It was nicer than his.
Then the elevator shuddered to a halt and its door slid open. They gazed into what was obviously an office, with desks and chairs.
Paula screamed. Because there on the floor were the corpses of a man and a woman. Blood was spreading across the tiles.
Bigelow was appalled. But then he caught on. "It's illusion! Sent to both of us. To see if we really understand what's happening."
"Oh, of course," Paula agreed faintly. "Because if we understand, we'll just walk through them into the office. And pass the test."
"So let's pass that test," Bigelow said, taking her hand. They stepped out of the elevator together.
And tripped over the bodies. They fell on them, so weren't hurt. "They're real!" Paula said, horrified. "And still warm."
"Still warm," he echoed as they scrambled to get off the bodies and onto their feet, slightly blood smeared.
Paula rummaged in her handbag and brought out a damp wipe. She scrubbed Bigelow's pant legs to get the blood off. He would have protested, but realized that this little domestic favor was probably keeping her from freaking out. "Thanks." Meanwhile he had a worse concern. "Suppose we get blamed for this? Are we being framed for murder?"
"Murder!" Paula exclaimed, shocked. But then she had a better notion. "The illusions started before these people were killed."
"So it can't be a plot," Bigelow agreed, relieved. "Not against us. But then, why were these folk killed?"
"I think I know!" Paula exclaimed. "Another subject got here before us, and was so mad about it that he killed them and fled."
"That must be it," Bigelow agreed. "He got scared out of his wits, herded here, learned it was all an experiment—"
"And blew his top," Paula said. "He just went crazy. And knifed them to death." She smiled. "He was not amused."
"And now we're stuck holding the bag," Bigelow said "What are we going to do? So we don't get blamed?"
"Flee before they know we're here?" Paula asked plaintively. It was obvious that this was hope rather than conviction.
"They have to know we're here," Bigelow said. "They've been tracking us, so they know when to throw their illusions at us."
"Yes, of course," she agreed. "So they must know who was here before us, too. Still, I think we're in a picklement."
"A kosher dill picklement," he agreed. "But look, we wanted adventure. Now's our chance. Let's contact them about this."
"Yes!" she agreed, and kissed him. "I'll try to call them now. They must be wondering why their people stopped communicating."
They went to the desk. There was a TV screen showing a map of the city, with half a dozen red dots on it.
There was also a red telephone. "I'll put it on Speaker," Paula said. "So we can both talk to them." She touched a button. "Hello," Paula said. "We need to talk to someone in authority. Please answer."
"Provide your access code," a man's voice answered. That was all.
"We don't have an access code," Paula said. "We're not your regular operators. We need your help." But there was no response. "Please, we can't do anything without your help," Paula pleaded. "We have no idea what's going on. Please."
There was still no response. That annoyed Bigelow, partly because it wasn't courteous, mostly because Paula was frustrated. That made Bigelow mad "Listen, you smuck," he snapped. "Your folk here have been brutally slaughtered and it's a bloody mess here." He took a breath. "We didn't do it, and we're ready to help if we can. But we need your help in return." He took another breath. "So stop this crap about access codes and talk to us. Otherwise we'll leave and take it to the nearest police station." One more breath. "And let them damn well sort it out. I'll give you a count of ten to answer before we go." Still no response. So he started counting. "Ten. Nine. Eight, Seven, Six, Five. Four. Three."
Suddenly the phone spoke. "Acknowledged. Our apology for the delay. Please identify yourselves."
"Bigelow and Paula," Bigelow said, thrilled with his victory. "You have us in your records, no? Look us up."
"Welcome to the Project, Mr. Bilge and Miss Plain. How may we help you?"
Well now. "Tell us what to do with these bodies. We gather this is a secret operation, so you don't want these murders known."
"You are correct, Mr. Bilge. It is important that secrecy be maintained. We will send a crew to pick them up."
"Good enough. Now tell us what this monitor with the city and dots is for." He gestured at the computer screen, as if that helped.
"That is to track the several remaining subjects. When one goes the wrong way, we send an illusion to turn them back."
Just so. Bigelow could see that Paula was as pleased as he was with their progress. "What do we tell them when they get here?"
There was a brief hesitation. "You thank them for their participation and recruit them to the mission."
"And what is the mission?" Bigelow asked. "It must be pretty important, to warrant all this business."
Another hesitation. "We are not free to divulge that at this time."
"Oh for pity's sake!" Paula said. "How can we do this if we don't know?"
"It is complicated. Regulations do not permit revelation of core data to unauthorized parties."
Bigelow was getting mad again. "Listen, you turd. In World War Two the American soldiers were making out with foreign girls." He took one of his breaths. "When their wives asked what the Brits had that the wives didn't have, know what they answered?"
The voice sounded confused. That was good. "Mr. Bilge, I don't see the relevance. What have British girls to do with—"
"They answe
red 'Nothing. But they've got it here.' See my point? Or do you need it in words of one syllable?"
There was another pause. "I believe I do. You are saying that we need operatives on the spot, right now, and you are there."
"Right. We've got nothing, but we've got it here. So work with us. We're willing and able, if you just tell us how."
"You have a point, Mr. Bilge. Give us a moment to organize our presentation, and we will cooperate with you. We'll call back."
The phone went dead. Paula hugged him. "Wonderful!" she said. "You were so masterful!"
"Well, I never got threatened by falling safes, rabid dogs, and fires before," he said. "I just got mad."
"I love it when you're mad." She kissed him. "And you used my example so well! You're a genius."
"No, I just used what you gave me." But he was ridiculously pleased by her compliment.
"Do you think we have time?" she asked. "'Before they call back?" She glanced around the office, skipping over the bodies.
"Time for what?" But then she was passionately kissing him again, and he realized he was being stupid. "Maybe we do," Bigelow agreed. After all, when would they have more time alone, when things got going?
As it turned out they did have time. Then it got interesting in more than one sense. But that is another story. Stay tuned for "Mission" in due course.
“Miss
ion”
This commences the third Tweet story, about Bigelow Bilge and Paula Plain, two dull folk who suddenly started wildly hallucinating. He saw a falling safe, a wild car, a rabid dog, all trying to wipe him out. She saw a rattlesnake and others, similarly dangerous. But it turned out they weren't hallucinations. They were projected illusions. Someone was trying to scare them, or drive them somewhere.
They decided to find out, by letting the illusions herd them to a building and an upper room. Where two people had been murdered. It seemed that someone else had gotten there before them, and been pretty annoyed, and gruesomely killed the operators.
Bigelow and Paula had gotten interested in each other in the course of the adventure, in fact they kissed, maybe even more. So they worked together to smoke out the folk who ran this operation, and make them clean up the mess and explain things.
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