"We've got to follow the bird," Jack said. "NOW!"

"Go in THERE?" Nash said in horror.

"Why not?" Jack asked, his hand coming to rest on his cutlass as he looked at the left "wing" of the structure.

"The Secret Seagull Underground International HEADQUARTERS?" Nash said in disbelief.

"It doesn't look underground to me," Jack replied, already striding across the plaza.

Sid, unseen, watched from his perch. There might not be any cliffs nor even any cattle chutes on the far side of the dome, but he had made.... arrangements. He had, indeed. He chuckled as he watched the cast trailing the determined Captain.

*********

Jack's concentration was so centered on the doorway he was approaching that he completely failed to notice he was alone. The rest of the cast was a good hundred feet back of him, standing or kneeling about the prostrate form of Nash, who had fainted after taking three steps toward the building. Franki quickly broke open some smelling salts, waving them under his nose. Nash gasped, opened watery seagreen eyes and stared wildly up at the looming faces. "We...we...can't...." he moaned.

"What, John?" asked Franki gently, pushing wayward strands of brown hair off his forehead with her fingertip.

"JACK!" he shouted, startling everyone and struggling to a sitting position. He quickly scanned the surrounding male faces, so similar in form, but none of them crowned with the Captain's shining golden hair. "Where is Jack?" he said, his voice tense and urgent.

Maximus turned, his practiced gaze quickly locating the Captain as he jerked open a large door and entered the swoopy building's left wing. The General looked down at the distraught mathematician. "He went inside," he replied, and pointing to the doorway, added, "there."

Nash shuddered so violently that six of the seven bluebirds perched on the shoulders of Franki's blue cape were shaken loose. Still the stalwart nurse did not let go of her hold on Nash's left arm. Not since the day she had carried the three wounded vulcanologists down the slopes of the erupting Popocatepetl ahead of the pyroclastic cloud  had she lost so many of her bluebirds all at once. Nash's eyeballs began to roll back up again. Ignoring Bud's offer to slap him awake, Franki chose her own method of restoration and, leaning over, planted a large kiss on his slightly parted lips. John's seagreen eyes blinked twice, then focused. Franki looked up at the watching cast and shrugged, "Works every time." She did not tell them how she had come to know this. It was a treasured and very private memory.

Biebe and Cort helped the wobbly Nash to his feet and the entire cast stared at the door through which the Captain had disappeared. Maximus appeared deep in thought, his thumb tracing circles atop the rounded pommel of his gladius. Joimus placed her hand midway up his left forearm, noting how corded and tense his muscles were. How she longed just to bury her cheek in his draping faux fur and find the two of them back in the desert tent.

But epilife never seemed to allow that for them despite the personal involvement in their relationship by its author. Why WAS that one wondered? Ah, well. She studied his jaw as it clenched and unclenched and when she saw the warning sign of the dreaded nostril flare, knew that he had made some decision and removed her hand from his arm, thinking that he had not noticed its presence anyway.

He had, of course. Nothing connected with his Joimus ever went unnoticed. Now he turned to face her, his cape doing an adorble little swirly movement. "I must...," he began, his eyes casting sideways toward the doorway.

Joimus smiled up at him, her eyes clear pools of all he meant to her. "I know," she murmured softly, nodding. She, too, then looked at the doorway.

The great aquifer of his love for her bubbled up through his chest so suddenly and strongly that he had no choice but to enfold her in his arms, pressing her close and planting kisses on her hair, her eyes, her lips.

"Hey!" Ando complained. "That's not fair!" Joimus just smiled inwardly, thankful beyond measure for whose fingers rested on the keyboard.

A sudden sharp snap of suspenders behind her caused the former Welshwoman to turn. "Jealous, are ya now?" said the young Melbourner with a smirk. "Well, I can fix that." And, so saying, he bent Ando halfway back to the cement, licking the small hollow below her voice box.

"Humph!" humphed Sue. "The squeaky cast member gets the lovin'."

Arthur cleared his throat as loudly as he could manage then said, "Jack could be in trouble. We had better go....NOW!"

"Arthur's right," added Terry, the back of his neck prickling with heightened K&R instincts.

Hando looked up, frowning. "Yeah, yeah," he said, his lips curling in disdain, "there's not one of those bloody-awful moments to lose."

Juditha almost smacked the skinhead. Ever since her Captain had gone through the doorway and out of her sight, her mind had raced with terrible possibilities. She was in no mood for Hando's callousness. "Maximus," she said, turning where she knew she could find sympathy, "Jack has been inside several minutes now." She added one more word, a word that said everything. "Sid."

Joimus saw Maximus' nostrils flare again. She took a step back from him, looking up into his face. "Go," was all she said.

The General was instantly off at a full run toward the left wing of the swoopy building, his cape flying out behind him, his gladius gripped in his right fist. East let out a loud whoop and followed closely behind, joined quickly by all the male cast members except Nash.

The mathematician closed his eyes, pressing his fists to his temples. How could they expect him to enter the Secret Seagull Underground International Headquarters...especially now that they had taken his picture...now that they knew he KNEW!?!

"John?" He felt Franki's cool fingers cupping his cheek. Opening his eyes partially, he looked down at her. "John," she repeated, her steady gaze forcing his eyes fully open. "You know more than anyone what might be found in.... there." She nodded towards the left wing. "You must offer your assistance to your fellows."

Nash paled a bit. She was right. He knew she was right. Only he was fully cognizant of the Machiavellian machinations of the vast Seagull Conspiracy, of how their seemingly innocent wanderings about the plazas of our planet were actually carefully plotted designs for world domination. He looked back briefly at the main portion of this particular plaza. A good 40 or 50 seagull agents were moving here and there, pretending to be interested in scattered croissant crumblings, but he could see their patterns clearly and knew, therefore, of the threatening danger to the western suburbs of Denver.

He squared his shoulders, sudden resolution of heart causing his pectorals to plump with purpose. "I can do it," he said, more to himself than to Franki.

"I know you can," she affirmed as with a slightly slower gait, he moved to follow his mates.

As Ando watched the men nearing the door to the left wing, she frowned. A low growl rose up her throat. She turned, facing the group of women as they stood there in the plaza. "What?" she shouted. "Are we in the 1860's that we let our menfolk go off to battle without us?"

The women looked around at one another. Indeed, never, ever had they hung back from conflict. Ute clutched the neck of a 3 gallon jug of soy sauce like a club. Countess Patricia filled her cheek pockets with golf tees. So good was she at tee spitting she could impale a fleeing cockroach at 20 yards. Susan Guildford gripped her trowel between her teeth, leaving her hands free to hurl large clods of fertilizer pellets. BugPuggie chose 6 particularly sharp pieces of wicker, placing them between her fingers rather Wolverineishly. Lucilla counted out a pile of poison raspberries. Wanda added a small packet of strange powder to her vial of toad juice, causing it to fizz and send up acrid wisps of green fog. Anna brandished a particularly large platter Andy had left in her keeping. Sue smiled as she ran the length of her black whip through her fingers. Bunny carved something from one of the plaza's stone benches but hid it quickly under her armpit so no one could see. Eryn strung one large bead in the center of a two-foot length of wire, grinning terribly. Beck felt the outlines of the supply of sharpened horseshoes in her pocket, confident and sure, as was annsmac as she mentally checked off all her equipment-tending-equipment. Mary twisted grape vines into a noose. Berti held her unabridged dictionary like a shot-put, remembering the shelf at home of trophies gotten for both accuracy and distance.

Jewelie watched, still rather amazed at the sheer violence of epilife, then shrugged and, pulling out a school and office thesaurus, asked Berti to give her some pointers. Phyllis joined the two women, her own speed tossing of the entire set of O'Brian volumes quite reknowned.

Juditha, so gentle and lady-like in appearance, still wore her Fuegan battleaxe at her belt. "Mess with MY Jack, will he," she muttered, her eyes glittering.

Joimus looked around for Amanda. "She's been on the far side of the plaza looking for a ladies' room," Berti explained. "I'm sure she'll rejoin us shortly." Indeed, Amanda was even now on her way back to the group, several large rolls of extra-strength toilet tissue concealed about her person. "And YOU?" Berti asked, looking at the seemingly unarmed Joimus.

The Pittsburgher smiled as she pulled her keyboard out of her gossamer backpack. "Despite my love for a certain bladeishly-inclined General, I find for my own purposes the keyboard to be mightier than the sword."

Berti grinned, knowing well the truth of this. Joimus, holding her keyboard like a battlebanner, stode forward then turned to face her fellow females. "There may come a day," she said loudly and clearly, her words ringing across the plaza, "when hearts may fail and only clubs will save the game...when we sit firesidedly mending socks, our minds occupied with apples yet to peel, underwear yet to starch...but not this day! THIS day we fight!!"

Ando roared her approval, crushing lumps of Welsh coal with her bare hands. Beck clinked her horseshoes together and Phyllis tossed Volume 17 high in the sky. Joimus shouted over the din, "They may take away our freedom, but they can never take away our characters!!!!" As one (the way Maximus liked it!), the women's feet stomped across the plaza toward the left wing in a classic Roman turtle formation.

A rotund, unkempt man passing by, hollered, "It's the RIGHT wing that's dangerous...not the left!"

Maximus was the first of the characters through the door. "Jack!" he called as his eyes took in the layout of their immediate surroundings. A chilling, computerish laugh echoed down the long corridor. The General crouched, his gladius at the ready, his head turning from side to side.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm....Maximus!" the voice mocked, "the General who became a short order cook, the short order cook who became a used car salesman."

Maximus' darting eyes could not pin down the source of the voice which seemed to come from one spot then move to another. He did see something black and crumpled several feet further down the hall. Striding forward, he picked the object up. It was Jack's tricorn...or, rather, HAD been Jack's tricorn. Again the evil laugh rang out. "There's not a moment to looOOOoOOoOOoOOOOoooose!" it mocked.

Biebe, also famous for large hat-wearing, came up beside Maximus, taking it out of his hands and looking at it somberly. "He's trampled Jack's best tricorn," the sheriff said, aghast.

"DOLTS!" the voice shouted. "It was NEVER a tricorn! It was always a bicorn. I've just turned it into an un-corn!" Sid laughed loudly at his own humor.

"What have you done with Jack?" Maximus roared. Sid replied singsongishly,

"Jack wasn't nimble, Jack wasn't quick, Jack tripped over the candlestick." The door to a janitor's closet swung open and the Captain's form tumbled limply into the hallway, a large bruise on his right cheekbone. The women had arrived by then and, stifling an urge to scream as Jack hit the floor hard, Juditha pushed her way through the closely-packed characters. Sitting quickly beside him, she pulled Jack's head onto her lap then looked with urgent appeal up at Biebe.

The sheriff knew what her wordless plea meant and, reaching into his breast pocket, broke off a large piece of the black ice he carried with him everywhere as a memento of home, passing it down to her. Juditha pressed the ice gently to Jack's cheek, cooing softly to him in a series of little, loving syllables. For long moments the Captain lay unmoving. Juditha was becoming more and more worried and a large tear welled up in her right eye then fell directly down onto his lips, remaining there like a drop of morning dew on a rose petal.

Slowly, the tip of a pink tongue appeared, touched the teardrop, explored its saltiness. Though his eyes yet remained closed, a tiny smile began to curve one corner of his mouth. "Oh, Jack, Jack!" Juditha cried, leaning forward and smothering that smile curve with kiss after kiss.

The voice, affecting a great simpering tone, came again: "JudyWudy kissed her Jack, Lying on his fat-assed back, While all the time, alas, alack, That high-falutin' acting hack And that boxer, a real sadsack, Are probably tied to some rairoad track." Great rolling laughter filled the corridor.

Joimus looked at Berti. "Not much of a poet, is he," she remarked.

"No, he's not," agreed Berti. "Not too many mass murderers seem to have a finely developed sense of meter."

Jack opened his eyes just as a seagull swooped low over the grouping, attempting to peck Nash's hair. Nash yelped in terror, hurtling himself through the nearest doorway. As the heavy door slammed shut behind the mathematician, Maximus and Biebe helped Jack to his feet. Bud rammed the door with his shoulder, but it didn't budge.

"Here, let me," said Terry calmly, swinging his equipment into position.

"Oh, Terry," annsmac said sadly, "it will get even blunter."

"I know," the K&R agent replied softly. "But what must be done...must be done." With one great thrust, the door buckled inward, splintering upon the floor of the adjoining room. Terry sank to his knees, white and gasping.

"How truly noble and self-sacrificing he is," thought Jewelie to herself as she noted the hundreds of splinters now embedded in the even more blunted end of the famous equipment.

"I fear you must go on without us...for now," annsmac murmured as she knelt beside him, withdrawing various implements from her backpack. "This may take quite some time."

"Here," Amanda said, proffering 4 rolls of extra-strength toilet tissue. "You may need this for bandaging...especially if you have to...cauterize."

"You are very kind," annsmac replied, "but I fear 4 rolls may not be enough."

Amanda handed her 5 more rolls. "It's all I have," she said.

"Thank you," annsmac smiled. "I shall try to make it do."

Terry had slumped sideways, leaning against the wall, sweat dripping down his face. "Always," he managed to gasp between clenched teeth, "there is a cost."

"Indeed," annsmac agreed as she began to position her largest pipe wrench.

Unable to watch further, Jewelie followed the rest of the cast into the room. She had just stepped across the threshold when, behind her, a wild scream suddenly cut off, replaced by the duller, thudding sound of a male body striking the floor. "Just as well," she heard annsmac comment softly.

The room they had all...well, most of them...entered was a chamber of considerable size. The cast was staring, mouths agape, toward its further wall. An enormous tapestry hung the forty feet from ceiling to floor. Worked into it with millions of precise stitches was the likeness of planet Earth... firmly clutched in the clawed feet of a giant seagull. Its beak, curved into an evil grin, held a large, shredded piece of blue checked flannel. Nash had sunk to his knees, repeating "No...no....no," over and over and over.

"There's a heckuva lota sinking to knees in this epi," Berti commented wisely to no one in particular.

Ute clutched Jeffrey's arm. "How does Himself fit in with seagull world domination?" she asked, sudden fear making her voice hoarse.

Phyllis was...well...appalled by the tapestry. It must have taken years to make! How COULD it have Big Blue worked into it like that when the seagull snatching of the shirt remnants had only come into epiplay so very recently?

Maximus pulled his eyes away from the mesmerizing tapestry, discovering a throne-like chair just to its right. He walked over, standing in front of it, studying it. It sat on a two-stepped platform and appeared to be carved from a single block of wood in the shape of a standing seagull, its outstretched wings curved forward protectively around the seat, its neck and head forming a high canopy. The two small scraps of Himself's actual flannel shirt rested on the polished seat. The General slipped his gladius beneath them, somehow feeling a caution about touching the throne, and lifted them. He dropped them into his left palm, his brow creased with troubling thoughts.

"What is it?" Joimus asked, coming up beside him.

He held out his hand. "Big Blue," he rumbled.

Phyllis, overhearing, rushed over. "You've found Big Blue? Where?"

Maximus indicated the seat of the throne with the tip of his gladius. "There?" Phyllis gasped. "THERE?" she repeated more loudly. She looked up at Maximus blankly. "Why...there? What does it mean? What CAN it mean?"

She took the precious scraps in her own hands, staring back and forth from them to the throne. If Berti had not approached just then, she might well have sunk to her knees, but denied herself that redundancy in the presence of the Louisianan. She could not quite prevent her hands from trembling, however. The feel of Big Blue upon her skin was nearly more than she could bear. She lifted the scraps to her nose, inhaling the familiar scents of scorched flannel fray, dehydrated Nile River amoebas, tomb dust and Mary's Outback punch. As small as the scraps were, they seemed to possess Russell's very essence.

Colin and Eryn stood near the moaning Nash, exchanging looks. "Nash was... right," Eryn said, hardly able to give credence to her own words.

Colin just shook his head unbelievingly, though he knew it was true. Momentarily distracted by the sensual sway of Colin's sideburns, Eryn failed to notice Nash regain his feet and stagger toward the throne. He pointed one shaking finger at it and cried, "The Seagull Seat of Power and Might!!" Overcome, he fell to the floor.

Berti looked down. "There is also a lot of falling to the floor in this epi." "Oh, Franki!" she called, jabbing her finger downwards at the prostrate mathematician. Franki ran up, commenting that she was out of smelling salts.

Wanda, wandering past, said, "Here, use my...um...special...toad juice. It wakes the dead."

Berti, nodding her head wisely, added, "Believe her. Her back 40 acres are full of the woken dead."

"Shhhhhh!" Wanda scolded. "Some things about Mississippi are best left only in Mississippi."

"Truly," Berti agreed.

Franki held the uncapped vial close to Nash's face and the green fog wafted up his nostrils, its force lifting him otherwise unassisted to his feet, though it took a good 5 minutes more for his ears to stop twirling. Immediately upon the conclusion of said event, Nash clutched Franki's hands desperately, the wildness of his eyes further enhanced by their new resemblance to the fruit of the lime tree.

Franki had, indeed, developed quite a fondness for the seagreen centers of these orbs, but now that the whites were lime, the whole effect was quite...well...disconcerting and she had a hard time concentrating on what he was attempting to say. "Would you repeat that?" she asked politely. His skin was gone so white and clammy that she could not stop staring at the contrasting greenness of his visual equipment and, so, failed yet again to grasp his communications.

"Hmmmmmm?" she asked.

Finally he closed his eyes and said word by slow word, "The seagulls are coming...the seagulls are coming."

"They ARE?" she replied. "When?"

"Now," he sighed, turning away and, eyes still closed, tripping over the bottom step of the throne.

"NO!" shouted Maximus, but it was too late. As Nash's body touched the throne, a trap door opened and throne and Nash together disappeared beneath the floor.

"Are you SURE this is City Hall?" Wanda asked Berti.

Before Berti could reply, the air was filled with the sound of white-feathered flappings growing rapidly nearer. Berti narrowed her eyes at Joimus. "You WOULDN'T put us in the middle of a Hitchcock movie... WOULD you?"

Joimus smiled nicely, indicating the back wall of the room. "Do you see a 'Rear Window' ANYWHERE?" she replied defensively.

Berti took a precious moment of time to gather herself together, then spouted, "Hmmmm...'I Confess' that watching Phyllis play 'The Skin Game' with the flannel scraps gave me a bit of 'Stage Fright' but were I more 'Young and Innocent' I would without a 'Shadow of a Doubt' find 'Suspicion' and even a bit of Nash's 'Vertigo' in the blatant 'Downhill' manner in which you have spun this 'Notorious' 'Family Plot' of yours with such 'Easy Virtue' as we look for our 'Psycho' 'Saboteur' 'To Catch A Thief' who has stolen 'The Wrong Man' as well as 'The Man Who Knew Too Much' and has left us all 'Spellbound' and in a disturbing 'Frenzy' making us want to 'Dial M for Murder' since Nash fell into the two and not 'The 39 Steps' in the 'North By Northwest' corner of this room whilst our 'Secret Agent' is currently incapacitated in yon hallway and various attempts to 'Blackmail' our cast may well distract us from the fact that Himself and Jim may even now be held captive in 'The House Across the Bay'."

Would there have been more? We may never know because just then there came the unmistakable sound of a 'Torn Curtain' and 'The Birds' filled the room.