#quest tracker

“Hello?” Mitzi called out nervously, as she was struck by the stark contrast between the sun outside, nearing its midday height in the Southwestern sky, and the murky darkness inside, punctuated only by perplexing, intermittently flashing, tiny chirping computer lights. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out towering shelves stocked with an eclectic mix of antique museum pieces and futuristic-looking devices whose functions she couldn't even begin to guess at. “Jeez, it's like the warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark in here.”

“Quest Tracker recording, Star Point Portal experiment 51,” a man's voice announced, from further in the depths of the labyrinthine shelves. As Mitzi followed the voice to its source, she suddenly found herself facing the backside of a naked young man, standing inside a large upright ring, spreading his legs to plant his bare feet firmly at its base, as he extended his arms horizontally for his hands to grip the ring. Even as Mitzi quickly averted her stunned stare, she couldn't help but be reminded, by the pose of his body, of a five-pointed star.

“This is Austin Imhotep Kingsley, conducting scientist and guinea pig,” his voice reported for posterity, with enough of a wry tone that Mitzi could practically see his smirk, even as he continued to face away from her, “attempting to activate the Ouroboros on its own, minus the key of the star segments, by redirecting my recently received energies into the artifact.” As the ring's glow grew, Mitzi traced the light trails of its wires and tubes to a much smaller ring, an engraved stone relic on which the metallic model appeared to have been based.

“And with that, I suppose all that's left to say is ... Desperta Ferres,” Austin Kingsley declared tremulously, as his naked skin lit up with neon yellow symbols and patterns, whose energy pulsed and flowed, first into the larger ring, then into what Mitzi guessed must be the Ouroboros, illuminating them both with a rising hum, until crackling sparks flew from where Austin's hands and feet made contact with the ring, and an explosive force blew him backward, out of the ring and into the nearest row of shelves, where Mitzi had hidden to spy on him.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” Mitzi repeated frantically, even as she immediately rushed out to grab the glaringly red extinguisher off its wall mounting and douse the flurry of flames that had replaced the shower of sparks coming from the ring, before she turned to Austin, who'd been knocked out by the blast. “Mister Kingsley?” she patted his face anxiously, hoping to revive him, while pulling a heavy wool blanket from the floor around him for warmth. “Please say you're okay.”

Austin coughed himself awake, to discover his head resting in Mitzi's miniskirted lap. He blinked his wide blue eyes at her, and she realized that his smooth, handsome young face made for a fitting match with his sleek, attractive body ... not that she'd been looking, of course.

“It didn't work, did it?” Austin checked, his tone so despondent that she couldn't resist brushing his silky, sandy brown bangs back from his knitted brow.

Mitzi shook her head with regret. “Whatever you were trying to do, I don't think it happened.” Curiosity overcame her. “What does 'Desperta Ferres' mean?”

“It's a Medieval Catalan battle cry,” Austin grunted as he rose to his feet, sloughing off the rough blanket like a snake shedding its skin, which compelled Mitzi to grudgingly turn her appraising gaze away yet again. “It means, 'Awake, iron,' which couldn't help but seem appropriate under the circumstances.” When he turned back to address her, he noticed her attention was fixed intently on the ceiling, her arms crossed tight over her broad chest. “Why are you ... oh, right. Western culture, nudity taboos. Sorry. I still forget sometimes.”

“Yeah, think you could take care of that? Thanks,” Mitzi requested curtly, and instantly felt a twinge of guilt over her mild abruptness, as Austin slipped on the same pair of black casual pants and matching utilitarian top he'd apparently been wearing before his experiment. The band collar with the gold trim opened into a low but narrow neckline, that allowed him to slip it over his head while barely mussing up his floppy mop of hair, and only exposed glimpses of the peach fuzz on his chest to those who were genuinely trying to catch sight of it.

Mitzi cleared her throat, as much to rouse herself from her reverie as to attract Austin's attention. "Look, I'm sure whatever you're doing here is super-important, and it's not like I'm in any position to judge how anyone else does their business, so if you could just fill out these forms, that Ms. Van Doren sent me over here to get completed, I promise I'll leave you alone, to strip down and electrocute yourself to your heart's content."

Austin rolled up his gold-hemmed sleeves as he scanned rapidly through the thick stack of expense inquiries. “Of course Nora sent you,” he muttered, as much to himself as to Mitzi. “Only seven keys in all of creation can open the doors of the Bookhouse, and they can't be duplicated.” He stopped short, in the midst of his nimble fingers flitting quickly through the overstuffed binder, to separate out a single sheet of paper from the pile. “This belongs to you, actually. It's your résumé from ... Trust-E Temps? And you might as well return the rest of Nora's tedious attempts at bookkeeping to the Athenæum on your way out. Please tell her I have no time to be nickel-and-dimed by the same company my parents started and her family stole.”

“Tell her yourself, Buster!” Mitzi slapped Austin's proffered paperwork against his chest, her temper finally flaring. “I'm tired of you two treating me like one of those little plastic players on a foosball table, and I couldn't care less about whatever sordid soap opera drama you've got going on between you!” She sighed wearily, her shoulders slumping so low that she briefly resembled a deflating balloon. “If you send me back there empty-handed, then Nora, or Ms. Van Doren, or whatever I'm supposed to call her? She'll call my agency, and I'll get a bad eval, and I'll be out of a job. And I've got a little girl to take care of, so that is just not going to happen, okay?” Mitzi mostly succeeded in keeping the tremor of impending tears out of her voice.

Austin so obviously had no idea how to handle such an outburst that Mitzi almost felt sorry for him, until he broke into a giddy grin that did little to reassure her. “Wait ... ah, why didn't I see it before? Stupid, Austin! Um ... Mitzi, is it? Or Ms. Klingfeld, if you prefer? If all you need is a new employer, then I could just hire you to help me out here! Oh, you'd be perfect!”

Mitzi winced reflexively. “It's not that I don't appreciate the vote of confidence, but ... well, I've been in enough bad relationships already that the absolute last thing I need in my life right now is to nursemaid yet another crazy person who's trying to kill themselves. No offense.”

“Two minutes,” Austin cajoled, holding up two fingers. “Give me just two minutes, maybe three, to give your perspective a paradigm shift ... and I'll fill out Nora's forms for you, regardless of your decision,” he exhaled heavily at the apparent weight of his concession. “Please.”

“Two minutes?” Mitzi checked skeptically.

“Maybe three,” Austin repeated, before venturing, “Possibly four?”

“Let's make this simple,” Mitzi held up her hand, before fetching her burgeoning purse from where she'd set it on the floor. “Lucky for you, I'm a sucker for hopeless headcases.” She fished through the depths of her handbag until she found her Walkman, the cord of its headphones still wound round it securely, to keep its cassette from popping out. “I've never been able to resist giving at least a single dance to just about any fella who can work up the nerve to ask. If he knocks my socks off, we keep on dancing. If he doesn't, I thank him kindly, and he still gets to say he got a free dance from a classy gal.”

This time, it was Austin's turn to pull a befuddled expression. “I ... never really learned how to dance.”

“That figures,” Mitzi snorted, before retrieving the tape marked “Heart: Alone/Barracuda” from the player, and holding it up to Austin's line of sight. “I'm guessing this'll be your first lesson on the Wilson sisters too, then.” She replaced the tape in the player, snapped its lid shut, hung its headphones around Austin's neck, and dialed their volume to maximum, before holstering the Walkman on the waist of her miniskirt. “I picked up this single during the summer. I've practically worn out the A-side since then. The song's about three and a half minutes, and you'll pardon the pun, but I know it by heart.”

“And I have the length of this song to make my case,” Austin grasped, as Mitzi noted that he seemed suddenly invigorated by being assigned such concrete parameters.