Forest Week: If You Go Down To The Woods Today… Parts One and Two Go straight to Part Two      “Sit-rep,” Hatman said gravely as he strode into the Operations Room at the Lair Mansion, pulling on his trademark baseball cap with its H-logo.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Emergency flag tripped eighty seconds ago,” reported Amber St Clare from the communications console. “Hallie’s on it now. Hallie?”     Hatman looked from the Legion’s government liaison to their resident artificial intelligence. The trim green-skinned hologram of the Mansion’s sentient computer program gestured to change the situation display globe to show a patch of national forest in New England. “At 19.22 the President’s plane was attacked in flight over this area. The internal assault alarm was triggered and then nothing. The plane’s not in the sky any more.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Do we have any readings to give us a clue?”     The Ops Room door whooshed open as archscientist Al B. Harper and CrazySugarFreakBoy! hurried in. “Did someone say readings?” Al asked. “I love readings.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There was a coded video feed going out from the cockpit,” Hallie replied. “I’m decrypting it now. I can give you the audio.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Put it onscreen, Uhura,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! commanded. “Then give nu-Spock some sugar.”     Here was a tweeting noise as Hallie broke through fifteen layers of top-secret signal encryption. Then the pilot’s voice rang over the speakers. “Aaagh! Koalas! Koala attack!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’ve got video now too,” Hallie announced. Screen One was suddenly filled with an image of Airforce One’s cockpit, filled with rabid marsupials.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“No!” gasped Al B. Harper, taking an involuntary step backwards. “Drop-bears!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’ve got SPUD online now,” Amber called, announcing a link-up with the Super-menace Principal Undercover Directorate. “Colonel Dan Drury.”     Hatman stepped forward. “Drury, what have you got?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Bitch of a day, Boaz. First they’re tryin’ to replace me with some bald black guy an’ now the President’s plane dives into the wilderness. I’ve got a guy goin’ in to investigate.”     Yuki Shiro hurried into the room. The crisis was three minutes in and she’d been hitting bars for information in Paradopolis when the alarms had triggered. Her bike was parked outside the Ops Room. Half a dozen traffic cops were heading for therapy. “I’m up to speed,” the cyborg P.I. announced. She’d been following the Ops Room chatter on her internal communications array. “Who’s your agent?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Pres of the USA’s missing,” Drury replied. “Who d’you think we’re gonna send?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Jack Bauer?” suggested CSFB!     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Patching the operative through now,” Hallie reported. “He’s para-diving into the area.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“This is Silver Aegis entering the crash zone,” came back the bold confident tones of America’s apotheosis. “I can see a trail of broken trees. Looks like Air Force one is down.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“He’ll need backup,” Hatman decided. “Call the team.”     Nats hurried through the door. “Did someone say Lair Legion Line up?” he asked eagerly.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“They did now,” sighed Amber. She pushed the big red button to call the other members of the world’s greatest superteam.     In a disused library in Manitoba, Canada, Moon Public Librarian Lee Bookman triggered his automatic return transport to the Lunar Library so he could take his Galactibus shuttle down to Parody Island (he wasn’t allowed to use the digital data transferor for non-Library business).     In a shoe sale at Mimble’s Department Store mild-mannered waitress Sarah Shepherdson dropped the lady with whom she was competing for a set of discount sling-backed sandals with a neat neck chop, elbowed the guy behind her who was rubbing far too many body parts against her in the sale scrum, and made for the counter. The Probability Dancer was needed; just as soon as her footwear needs were satisfied.     In the shower at Visionary’s dimensionally-unstable lighthouse the possibly-fake associate member of the Lair Legion groped his way towards a towel. He hoped the bleeping was his LL comm-card rather than any kind of detonation countdown device, but given he had Kerry Shepherdson living in the tower it was an even chance. Of course, it could just as likely be the comm-card destruct mode warning. It was a shame the towel and his clothes had all been packed up while he showered and sent to deserving orphans in Africa. Still, at least the new bathroom livecam was working.     In a bucket in a cyclopean lair beneath the Mansion the Manga Shoggoth formed a rigid sandcastle shape where his gelid mass had frozen. “Mmm,” he considered. “Interesting, but it’s not going to replace universal heat death,” he judged. “Still, thank you Icy. I’m always open to new experiences.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Once you’ve gone slushee you never go back,” promised the visiting snowman. “Perhaps you need a carrot and some coal to really get the hang of it?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Then I’ll be beloved of children everywhere,” anticipated the loathsome elder being. “Ho ho ho.”     The traumatising of the world’s youth was postponed by the summons to line up.     While CSFB! and Nats were prepping LairJets One and Two, Hatman and Yuki were interrogating Dr Harper. “Drop bears,” Yuki said, “There’s nothing in our files about them.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well, there wouldn’t be,” Al B. warned. “Nasty little buggers. Their main power is to make people not believe in them. Half an hour after meeting them you won’t remember who chewed your arm off.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You seem to remember them,” Hatman pointed out.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m extremely clever,” explained the archscientist. “But what would make the drop bears swam at this time of year, and so far from home?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So the President might have been eaten?” Yuki worried. “Maybe it was the Republicans?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Silver Aegis here,” came in the voice of the perfect patriot Scott Scoggins over the SPUD linkup. “I’m at the crash site. No sign of the President. No bodies. We may have an abduction scenario. I’m checking the area.”     Hatman pulled on a communications headset. Suddenly he was as one with the entire comms system of the USA. “Okay,” called into his headset. “Ops team one is with me. That’s Dancer and the Shoggoth. We do primary crash location, check for clues. Team two’s with Dream, that’s Yuki and Nats. You find Silver Agent and hook up with him, keep on quartering the area. Lee, you’re research. Find out what we don’t believe about Drop Bears.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t believe we’ve got anything,” the Librarian replied. He paused as he considered what he’d said then added determinedly, “And that’s why they need to be indexed.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yep. Al, I want some way of us taking down the opposition, and maybe some idea of why they’re suddenly, er, dropping.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Don’t let them get their teeth into anything vital you might want to keep,” the archscientist advised.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Vizh, you’re on monitor duty.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Great,” replied the founding Legionnaire. “Do they have towels in the Ops Room?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Let’s go!” Hatman called. CSFB! was able to stifle Nats before he shouted anything out.     Visionary arrived in the Operations Room wearing Donar’s old dressing gown. It smelled of goats and had a flagon of beer in one pocket and a two-handed axe in the other. “The LairJets are away,” Hallie informed him. “Nice to see you. And I don’t just mean the u-tube file your students just uploaded.”     Marie Murcheson slipped into the Ops Room behind the possibly-fake man. “There’s another thing you probably need to know about,” she advised the support staff.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What did Flapjack do now?” demanded Amber St Clare. “Why haven’t you designed a Neutering Ray yet, Harper?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s not Flapjack,” Marie told them. “Nats’ bathroom is a swamp.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Tell me about it,” shuddered Hallie. “I think Kenny’s growing new kinds of fungus in his bathtub.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“No,” clarified the mansion’s resident banshee. “I mean there’s a swamp in Nats’ bathroom. You open the door and there’s a thick boggy forest right there. Some kind of dimensional anomaly, I’m sensing.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ah,” Hallie understood. “Sounds like a job for Visionary.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Wait – what?” spluttered the possibly-fake man. ***     Ã¢â‚¬Å“This is Silver Aegis calling SPUD. Are you receiving, over? Aegis calling the Lair Legion?     The hero of history got no reply but the static hissing over his headset. He continued to scout the deep forest where the President’s plane had gone down twenty-three minutes earlier.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’ll continue broadcasting in case you can still hear this,” he said into his microphone. Modern technology was still new to the walking warrior of World War II and he hoped his commentary would be of some use to those who came after him if something went wrong. “I’ve located the wreckage of Air Force One and it looks like it had a soft landing on thick vegetation. I didn’t stop for a through analysis. However, it’s abandoned. Looks like it was evacuated in an orderly manner. No indication of casualties.”     Silver Aegis swung round suddenly, raising his shield, but a fat moorhen squawked out of the bushes and winged away.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There’s a column of smoke about three klicks away from the LZ,” he reported. “I’m making for it now. I’ve found a clearing in the woods and… there’s a house. A small wooden house, old timber-frame building with a smoking chimney. Logical place for survivors to go. I’m approaching.”     The defender of democracy slipped from the treeline and sprinted across the open ground until he reached the wall of the old shack. He peered inside through a thick half-opaque panel of leaded glass window. “There’s no sign of occupation. The house is really one big room with a mezzanine balcony. Hardly furnished. Just a table with two chairs, one much larger then the other, and a child seat. Table’s laid out for eating. Mezzanine has three beds, one huge, one… Wait a minute!”     Silver Aegis’ comm-signal went silent. ***     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That was the last you got from him?” worried Yuki Shiro on LairJet Two.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’ve got the tech boys analysing th’ transmissions right now,” Dan Drury grumped back over the monitor feed to the SPUD helicarrier. “And the psych boys.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hey, Silver Aegis could so take three bears,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! assured them. “Can you find the location, Natster?”     Nats was flying alongside the LairJet using his own psychokinetic powers. “Yeah, there’s smoke over there. I can see a clearing. And there’s movement.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What kind of movement?” demanded Yuki suspiciously. “Bears again?” She’d reset her internal computer systems to constantly keep reminding her of the existence of Drop Bears.     The flying phenomenon zoomed closer. “Bears, yeah,” he agreed. “A helluvalot of bears.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Drop Bears?” the cyborg P.I. asked as she was reminded of their existence again.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Lots of kinds of bears. Even polar bears.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“They’d be from Lost,” CSFB! reasoned. “Look for Evangeline Lilly. Hope she’s in a wet t-shirt.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“No sign of starlets in wet clothing,” Nats reported. “I never get the interesting missions. Just a whole lot of bears.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Legion never prepared a contingency plan for bear takeover of the world,” worried Yuki Shiro. She blamed herself. “Racoon People, sure. Detonator Hippos, yes. Talking Gorillas, we have three. Not bears.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That was maybe a boo boo,” suggested Bill Reed, marking himself for death.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What are they there for?” CSFB! wondered. “I’m taking us down there to see if they’re doing what they should be doing in the woods. Or is that the Pope?”     Bill Reed hovered above the massive accumulation of ursidae and had a big surprise. “I’d have to say that it looks like they’re having a picnic.” ***     Hatman was wearing his Thinking Cap for two reasons. Firstly it helped him retain knowledge of the existence of Drop Bears, whose special power was to make people believe they didn’t exist. Secondly he needed to boost his cognitive reasoning abilities as he inspected the cockpit of the downed Air Force One.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There’s signs of a struggle,” he puzzled, looking at the spilled coffee mug and the scattered flight logs. “That fits with the video footage we got of Drop Bears attacking the pilots. But there’s no blood, no sign of those fierce killers tearing up and devouring their prey.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That’s good though, isn’t it?” asked Icy the Snowman, who’d tagged along at the Shoggoth’s invitation. “I think that’s good. Eating people would be yucky. I don’t think anyone should eat people. They should be a no-eating zone.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’ve found where the black box should be, Hatty,” announced Dancer. “It’s gone. It’s been wrenched out of the bulkhead. I’m guessing that generally the manufacturers of these planes try to prevent that kind of thing from happening.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“This whole place tastes unusual,” announced the Shoggoth, sniffing the air and bubbling. “Usually aircraft are all turquoise and curry, with dashes of anxiety crusted on the inverse angles. This one is more peppermint candy.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Right, thanks for that… diagnosis,” Hatman told the loathsome elder being. “Any sense of where the passengers might have gone of who might have taken them? Al didn’t seem to think that Drop Bears were natural hostage takers.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’ve been trying to ramp up the chances of us finding a clue as to where they went,” the Probability Dancer promised. “Nothing so far, as if there was no chance. I think I might have to resort to the Claudia Schiffer Lower Body Workout.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“CrazySugarFreakBoy! said that if you were going to do that again I had to find a video camera,” Icy worried. “I didn’t bring a video camera.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There are dimensional anomalies all around us,” the Shoggoth noted. “They are trying to drag us away from that little reality all you humans are so fond of and enmesh us in different dimensions. So cute.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Could you please prevent that,” Hatman requested of the non-Euclidean legionnaire. “I like my dimensions right where they are, no matter how cute the attempts to drag me elsewhere might be.”     Dancer looked more carefully at the elder being wobbling inside the shabby Edwardian three-piece suit. “Hold it, when you said about dimension drag and how something was trying to take us off, did you use your descriptive word in the general or specific sense?” she wondered.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Very specific,” replied the Shoggoth. “I’d say the cute was verging on about 11.9 on the Puppy-Hamster Codex.”     Hatman still had his thinking cap on so translation was easy. “11.9? That’s… that’s Yo-levels of cuteness.” He referred to the sometimes Legionnaire who was a pure thought being from an alien world.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That’s right,” agreed the Shoggoth. “but don’t worry. I’ve anchored us here. We won’t be dragged away to the Happy Place.”     Dancer gasped. “The President’s gone to his Happy Place?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I think that’s nice,” declared Icy from the main cabin of the wrecked plane. “And look, everyone who’s gone there has left behind these little action figures of themselves on their seats. And all of them are smiling.” He demonstrated by pulling the string that protruded from the back of one of the dolls.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Fiscal policy!” it cried out, “Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!” ***     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Anything yet?” Visionary asked the Librarian hopefully. “Some ancient volume that explains why stealth forests are suddenly eating towns? A scientific treatise on how the Wookiegetlucky Swamp can appear in Nats’ bathroom? A note from my mother saying I don’t have to go through this dimensional portal and die horribly?”     Lee Bookman has just landed his Galactibus on the Lair Lawn and joined the investigators braving Nat’s bedroom sock pile to examine the dimensional doorway that had replaced his bathroom. “I’m not sure a letter from your mother would be allowed in continuity,” the Librarian warned the possibly-fake man. “However I do have a large body of literature on the Nexus of Unreality said to currently reside in the swamp there.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Fascinating cosmology,” agreed Al B. Harper. “Hallie, if Visionary explodes at all during this investigation make sure you record his splatter patterns. They could tell us so much about the origins of the Parodyverse.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Should somebody stop Visionary choking?” worried Marie Mutrcheson, the Lair Banshee. “Only I don’t want to have to spend all night wailing his death. Amber was going to show me a modern cultural piece called Sex in the City.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Visionary had better not explode,” said Hallie firmly. “He’s going to see Mama Mia! live tonight with… a friend… and they wouldn’t want to miss it.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I vote against exploding as well,” added Vizh. “Why are we discussing me exploding?”     Marie Murcheson ran her fingers over the jamb of the bathroom door. “This isn’t a new connection,” she sensed. As part of Parody Island’s ancient defences she’d know if a new dimensional attack had occurred. In fact she’d have drawn upon the residual link to the Celestians that had first defended the location and used that power to destroy such an attacker. This was different. “This has just been dormant for a while.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So we can’t just blame Liu Xi for messing up?” Flapjack sulked. “I was gonna offer to spank her.” He looked up hopefully. “Still will, if it helps any.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Why not let him try?” suggested Amber. “It’s cheaper than paying him his notice. Or we could just throw him through the door into the swamp.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s a Legionnaire’s job to explode first,” Hallie conceded. “Although he’s in big trouble if he does. Go on, Vizh.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’ll be right behind you,” archscientist Al B. Harper promised him. “Maybe with a beach umbrella.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It will be interesting,” the Librarian agreed. Then, catching Visionary’s look he clarified, “I mean it will be interesting to discover the link between the Lair Mansion and the Nexus of Unreality. There’s nothing in the literature.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And to find out how this all links to forests and Drop Bears,” Al B suggested.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Right,” sighed Visionary. At least they’d found him his proper clothing again. He had to trust Hallie that the green shirt and pants and the yellow coat weren’t only hard-light holograms. This time. “Let’s go.”     Visionary stepped through the doorway and sank ankle-deep in swamp mud. Al B. and the Librarian followed him.     The doorway closed.     The Drop Bears fell on them. Continued…      The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse      Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2009 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2009 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.