Of Verse and Song

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Of Verse and Song

Biker Mice from Mars

By Kat

In the oldest annals of Martian mythology is a tale of One that would save them. From what no one knew, but for as long as the Martian Cave Mice had recorded history the verses had been kept and passed on. From holy mouse to holy mouse, the words were remembered and sung.

None knew the reason… until now. Now their world lay in ruin. Destroyed by their own naiveté and greed. Now they needed the One that could save them, the one that had the power and the way. But before they could be saved they had to find; He in Old Red Canvas.

"It just doesn’t make any sense," Throttle said as he peered at the paper in front of him.

He ran his hand through his hair, pulling free the cord that tethered it together. He rubbed at the tingling sensation at the nape his neck. He had tied his mane too tightly this morning and now his scalp was protesting.

"What’s that?" Charlie asked from under the hood of an out of commission ’57 Chevy.

Charlie had been working on the old beat-up classic for days now, trying to see if she could breathe life back into it. She wiped the sweat on her brow with the sleeve of her coveralls and looked at Throttle from the corner of her eye.

"Oh, this old Martian Myth," he said flapping a paper in the air, clearly frustrated.

"Myths don’t usually make sense. If they made sense they wouldn’t be myths," Charlie told her tan mouse friend as she wiped her greasy hands on a special solvent rag to remove the grime from her fingers.

Throttle switched his gaze from the paper in his hand to the woman in the room. Charlie gave a sigh of relief as she cleaned the last of the grease from her hands and threw the now dirty towel away. Throttle watched his human friend stretch her back by placing her hands at the base of her spine and pulling her shoulder up and back. With his sensitive hearing, he could detect the faint pop and crackle of her backbone realigning.

"I guess," Throttle said, returning his attention to the topic at hand, "but this is one that we’ve got to figure out."

"Why’s that," she asked, abandoning her work for the moment in favor of some conversation.

"Well, there’s this theory on Mars that this poem, myth, song… whatever it is… holds the key to Mars’ restoration," Throttle told her with a sigh as he plopped his booted feet on the workbench, stretching out the cramps he had developed from sitting so long.

Charlie just silently scowled at the Martian male until he removed his feet of his own volition. Charlie smiled at Throttle’s quick recovery time and pulled a seat next to him. She unzipped the front of her coveralls, revealing her navy blue tank top, and slid her arms out. Charlie let the top hang around her waist and sighed with the relief now that she had fresh air on her bare skin. She pointed at the composition Throttle held in his gloved hand asking without words to look at it. He grinned and slid the paper over to the human. Charlie picked it up, and as she skimmed it she groaned.

"It’s in Martian," she accused as she punched him lightly in his shoulder. Throttle chuckled.

"Of course it’s in Martian. That’s how I memorized it."

Charlie rolled her eyes at him and tossed the paper back. "Do all Martians memorizes works of mythology?"

"No…" he said sounding almost shy, catching Charlie’s attention immediately.

"No?" Charlie questioned, trying to coax him into speaking.

Throttle just shook his head in the negative and silently refused to answer. Charlie continued to stare at him, her eyebrows raised in question. He tried to look away, but he knew that Charlie wasn’t going to give up. She was nothing if not persistent. He gave a sigh.

"It’s part of the required tasks if you’re going to jorn the ristood…"

The last part was so garbled by his fist in front of his face that Charlie had no idea what he had said. She leaned forward on her elbows, putting her face just below his, and glared at him. Throttle gave in.

"Join the priesthood…" he finished in a clearer if not more embarrassed voice.

Instead of laughing, like he thought she would, Charlie only looked at him with curiosity and maybe a little respect. She looked around as if to see if anyone was watching before she spoke.

"Why didn’t you finish?" she asked in all seriousness.

"Just wasn’t for me I guess," he said with a shrug, but then he chuckled. "And they didn’t allow heavy metal in the monastery."

Charlie smiled in return. She scooted her chair a little closer. "So, what does it say?"

"Well, the title is He in Old Red…"

"What?" Charlie asked when he hesitated.

"The word means ‘the skin a painting resides on’. I don’t really know if there is an equivalent word," he told her, his brow wrinkling in thought over his specks.

"Canvas fits pretty good. Even if it isn’t a skin," Charlie ventured out loud. "He in Old Red Canvas… sounds cryptic enough."

"Yeah, the rest isn’t any better," he said with a groan.

"So, how did you pull this duty?" Charlie asked, pointing to the paper.

"Well, Stoker knows about my… sordid past," he joked, wagging his eyebrows at her over his glasses, making her grin. "And apparently Mars wants all Martians with any clerical training to take a crack at deciphering the myth."

"So, is this homework closed book, or can you have help? I don’t have any clerical training, but 12 years of Catholic school has got to be good for something," Charlie told him.

"I don’t see why not," he picked up the paper and waved it at her. "Of course it’s always best to read it in its original language."

Charlie stuck her tongue out at his teasing face and crossed her arms over her chest like a pouting child. Throttle had to laugh. With her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and her face smeared with dirt and sweat, she looked about twelve.

"All right, all right… I’ll translate it for you," Throttle gave in, patting her shoulder like he would a child.

Charlie beamed a smile at him and rose to her feet. The top of her coveralls swung around her waist when she stood. She came up behind him and gently massaged the sore skin at his nape. Throttle let his eyes drift shut as he felt his scalp relax. After a few moments of that she combed his longer hair through her fingers and retrieved the thong he tied his hair back with. It wasn’t the first time she had done this, and with ease born of familiarity she tied his hair back. Not too tight, not too loose, but perfect.

"The boys should be back soon," she commented when she was done. "I feel like having a pizza tonight. Are you guys staying around? There’s a James Bomb movie playing on the cinema channel."

"Sure, we haven’t just goofed off for an evening in awhile," Throttle told her.

"Good. I’ll order a half dozen pizzas. Would you be a doll and pay the delivery boy when he gets here? I’m going to take a shower."

Before he had a chance to answer, Charlie bent forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. With a ‘thanks, babe’ she flew up the stairs and to the safety of her bedroom where he couldn’t retaliate. Throttle just chuckled at her and refocused his thoughts on the paper in front of him.

He went to Charlie’s office desk and got some blank pages. He sat down and got ready to write the old verses into English. It wasn’t actually that bad of an idea having Charlie look at this with him. Being human, she’d probably have a different take on the whole thing. Besides, writing it down in English would force him to practice the alien lettering that made up the bulk of human modern writing.

Martian lettering was all straight lines and geometric figures with no curves or circles, but English had so many twists, turns and loops that it made his poor Martian head seasick just looking at it. As always, he started out writing the entire alphabet then ‘Charlene Davidson’ because it had been the first thing he had learned to write, with Charlie’s help of course.

It was harder than Throttle thought to translate the verses. He knew what he wanted to say, but every time he tried to come up with the Human word equivalent he’d draw a blank. Almost ready to give up he spotted a well-used Thesaurus and a paperback Webster’s dictionary stacked up next to Charlie’s account books and ledgers. Grabbing both of these he began to work.

It went a lot smoother after that. The words that he couldn’t find before began to spill onto the page. It was suddenly so easy, like the words were there all the time but just hidden. A half an hour into it he had the verses written.

He in Old Red Canvas

A hard, cold, even sin

Is told in the words

A havoc ridden lens

Shows the way

Did her lone canvas

Have the answers to

End his carnal dove?

Or did we write false?

Coddle she nirvana

Within her womb

Never had a cold sin

Hold such power

So end a raven child

Son born to her

Vandal dice her son

And end this world

No vandal, she cried

As he took her world

Ride chosen vandal

From the crime we made

Drench a slain dove

In the blood of her heart

He’d sin a cold raven

When asked by love

A clan he’d driven so

To the point of break

A clan she’d drive on

To the land once theirs

A cold hand never is

The end of suffering

Even in a cold shard

The truth to see

Hid on a clever sand

The savior of the red

I on red canvas held

The time of truth

He smiled grimly. It didn’t make anymore sense now than before, but he hadn’t expected it to. Throttle was about ready to rewrite the ancient verses, because his handwriting was a bit messy, when there was a knock on the door. Looking up at the clock he realized how long he had been at it. He went to the door, passing by his bike first to get his helmet. Throttle opened the door, helmet on of course, and the same teenaged kid that always delivered their pizzas walked in.

"Hey, Mr. Throttle," the pimple faced teen said from under the oldest, filthiest baseball cap Throttle had ever seen. "Got your usual here…three everythings and three pepperonis. With your usual frequent order discount that will be $60 even."

Suddenly Throttle realized that Charlie had forgotten to leave the money with him to pay. He told the kid to put the pizzas on the desk and wait for him to come back. The boy quickly agreed and sat himself down at the desk. Throttle thought briefly about telling him to get up, but they had known this kid for over a year now, if he was going to do anything he would have by now.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Throttle got the to second floor of the Last Chance Garage and Charlie’s living quarters. With a quick glance to the right he saw that the bathroom door was open so that meant that Charlie was already in her room. He came up to the closed door and knocked softly.

"What’cha need Throttle?" she asked through the wood.

"Money for the pizza."

He heard her curse under her breath. She told him she was sorry about leaving him holding the bag and he told her it was all right. The sound of Charlie’s bottom dresser drawer opening and the false bottom panel being moved could be clearly heard… if you knew what you were listening for. Soon the door opened and a slightly damp pale arm thrust its way through the minimal opening. In her hand, Charlie held a fistful of bills. She waved them around a bit, letting him know that she wasn’t about to open the door all the way to give the money to him.

Throttle chuckled and on impulse grabbed her hand, took the money and kissed her palm. Charlie let out a squeal of surprise and blindly began to swat at him with the same hand he had just kissed. Throttle backed out of range before she could connect and quickly made his way down stairs so that he could pay for the pizza.

He found the greasy haired boy in the same place he had left him, but now he had a pencil in his hand and was doodling on the paper in front of him. Throttle stood beside the boy waiting for him to notice him. When the kid did look up he pointed at the desk.

"You workin’ on a word puzzle poem?" he asked.

"Yeah, something like that," Throttle said, handing the money over. "That should be everything."

The delivery boy counted the wad and his face lit up in a huge grin that made him look even younger than he was. Charlie must have given him a big tip, Throttle thought to himself as he watched the boy grin wildly. The kid quickly thanked him and reminded Throttle to call anytime they wanted pizza and then left.

Throttle opened all six boxes to make sure the order was correct. Seeing that it was, he took all of the pizza to the coffee table. After putting them down, he turned the low table so that it was parallel to the couch and no longer between the sofa and the TV. He turned on the television to let the picture tube warm up. Charlie’s TV was old, but once it warmed up it was a very clear picture.

Knowing that Charlie just couldn’t watch TV without her popcorn, Throttle went to the kitchen to make some. He pulled out some of that extra butter, extra salt theater popcorn Charlie liked so much and tossed it in the microwave. Three minutes later, voila, instant munchies. Before he left the kitchen, Throttle snagged a case of rootbeer and one straw. He took everything into the other room. He had just finished rearranging everything on the table when two bikes roared into the garage.

"Ah, Honey. You cooked dinner," Vinnie said sweetly as he dismounted from his bike.

Modo chuckled, "Yeah, sorry we’re late, Snookums, but you know how it is…"

"Working all day…" said Vinnie.

"Busting Plutarkian butt…" Modo added.

"We just didn’t have time to bring you any flowers," Vinnie laughed as he placed his elbow on Throttle’s shoulder.

"Laugh it up Funny Boy. I might just decide that Limburger needs surveillance tonight and guess who will pull the duty," Throttle threatened with a gleam in his eye.

"Leave you alone with a gorgeous babe and munchies when there’s a killer movie on tonight?" Vinnie asked. "I think not."

"Then I suggest you shut up and get into position. The movie’s about to start," Charlie said from behind them.

Throttle turned to see Charlie with her hair wrapped in a towel. No matter what planet you were on, all females could twist their hair into that turban thing. Besides the towel, Charlie had on her favorite movie watching football jersey that was about ten sizes too big and always hung off one shoulder or the other. Under that she had her blue cotton bike shorts that had been accidentally bleached in spots and had been deemed unsuitable for day wear.

"You’ve got the floor Vincent," Throttle reminded his white furred friend.

"No way… I had the floor last time," Vinnie complained as he always did.

"No, I had the floor last time Vinnie. Remember," Modo said as he sat down on the right side of the couch.

"Yeah, Vinnie. Remember you tickled Charlie’s foot and made her drop the popcorn bowl on Modo’s head," Throttle told his friend as he too took his place at the other end of the couch.

"But…" Vinnie tried to complain, but Charlie pinched him on the butt making him yelp.

"Just sit down hot stuff and watch the movie," Charlie told him before she pushed him down on to his posterior.

The combination of Charlie’s flirting and her ‘I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer’ tone was enough to shut Vinnie up. The two remaining mice chuckled at their friend speechlessness. Charlie plopped herself down on the couch between Modo and Throttle. She pulled out the sofa pillow that was wedged between her back and the couch cushion and placed it against Modo’s leg. She made a great show of fluffing the pillow before she laid her head down, turban and all. She curled her legs up onto the couch and tucked her purple sock-clad toes behind Throttle’s back. With a deep contented sigh, she reached over Vinnie’s shoulder, who was sitting on the floor in front of her.

"Soda, please," she said sweetly.

Vinnie grumbled a bit but complied. He opened one of the rootbeers Throttle had brought from the kitchen earlier and placed the straw inside. He handed it back to Charlie without looking. Charlie thanked the white mouse and Vinnie muttered a ‘you’re welcome’. Charlie grinned evilly, Modo and Throttle exchanged a worried look. Charlie lifted her rootbeer bottle over Vinnie’s head. She tilted the beverage just enough so that the condensation on the outside of the bottle collected at a point on the bottom edge. After patiently waiting, one perfect ice cold water droplet fell from the bottle, hit Vinnie’s right antenna and slid down its length.

"Whaaa, that’s cold," Vinnie yelped and turned around, fixing Charlie with a playful glare.

Charlie smiled back innocently with the straw between her lips. Vinnie made as if to tickle her, but suddenly stopped. Charlie had been ready for a frontal tickle attack and had pulled her legs into her chest to keep Vinnie from reaching her sensitive ribs. When he had stopped it had confused her enough to not notice that Vinnie had snagged a full bottle of rootbeer with his tail. Charlie let out with an ear piercing scream when the cold bottle found its way to her exposed neck. Trying to get away from the object of her torture, Charlie began to kick and thrash on the couch, causing the other two mice to get involved.

"Hey, Charlie-girl. Watch where your kickin’," Throttle told his human friend as her right foot came a little too close for comfort to parts of his anatomy he’d just assume stay pain free.

"Vinnie, leave her alone," Modo said as he tried to get either the open rootbeer of Charlie’s away from her so that it didn’t spill, or Vinnie’s rootbeer, so that Charlie could stop wiggling around.

Charlie continued to fight with Vinnie but her feet found a new target. When Vinnie tried to shift positions so that Modo couldn’t take his fun away, Charlie displayed a rare showing of her flexibility by planting both of her small feet into Vinnie’s chest. Since he wasn’t expecting that kind of retaliation Vinnie was literally bowled over when Charlie gave a push. Vinnie rolled over and was about to make a flying leap for the couch when Charlie’s words stopped him.

"Movie’s on," she yelled as she folded her arms above her head to protect herself if Vinnie decided to attack anyway.

"Cool," Vinnie said as he changed trajectory in mid flight to find his place on the floor.

Charlie gave a sigh of relief and flashed Modo a smile to which the gray mouse just shook his head. He reached out and ruffled her wet hair that had come uncovered during her escape attempts. Charlie swatted his hand away with a giggle and then plopped her damp towel on Vinnie’s head. The white mouse ignored her and just pulled the towel from his head and continued to watch the opening credits.

The rest of the evening went relatively quietly, which was a surprise to Throttle since the evening had started with such an uncharacteristic playfulness on Charlie’s part. It wasn’t like Charlie didn’t like to play around and have a good time, but she knew how easy it was for them to get out of control and trash the place. Most of the time she tried to keep them quiet, but tonight she was in a mischievous mood. Beyond the occasional flying popcorn there was no more rough housing.

Ten minutes before the climax of the movie Modo tapped Throttle on the shoulder. The tan mouse could barely pull himself away from the TV screen to see Modo pointing to their human friend. Charlie was fast asleep. Throttle looked at the clock and realized that it was two in the morning. Charlie had worked hard all day and into the night, that she had lasted this long was surprising.

Throttle thumbed over his shoulder to the stairs that led to Charlie’s bedroom. Modo only gave a nod and carefully collected the sleeping woman. Throttle watched until the tall gray mouse disappeared up the stairs then returned to watching James Bomb saving the world. After a few minutes Modo vaulted over the back of the couch to reclaim his spot.

"Out like a light. Never even opened her eyes," Modo said after picking up his half-finished rootbeer.

"Charlie works too hard," Vinnie said with a sigh, surprising the other two mice that he was even paying attention.

"Yeah, that girl fills her plate a little too full sometimes. She somehow manages to keep this garage from going under, keeps our bikes in repair and still tries to get in on the action any chance she gets," Throttle said setting the empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table.

"Things would be a lot easier for Charlie-girl if we didn’t trash the place all the time," Modo said grimly, looking around at the piles of rootbeer bottles, a mountain of empty pizza boxes and popcorn pieces littering the couch and floor.

They nodded to each other, communicating without words. None of them seemed to care that they were missing the end of the movie. Vinnie collected the rootbeer bottles, picking them up with his tail and placing them in his arms so that he could carry them all to the trash at once. Throttle busied himself with disposing the pizza boxes. He also snagged a broom and dustpan to clean the popcorn from the floor. Modo however was hampering his efforts.

"Hey, Modo. Watch what you’re doin’ bro," Throttle said as popcorn rained down on his head.

Modo smiled guiltily as he put back down the couch he was shaking, "Sorry, bro. Just trying to clear the couch."

"That’s what a dust buster is for," Throttle said tiredly, looking at the once swept floor.

"Yeah, but this is faster."

"For who?" Throttle asked brushing popcorn from his hair.

"You guys done yet?" Vinnie asked already on his bike ready to go.

"Throttle still has the floor to do," Modo answered mounting his own bike.

"Hey, guys…" Throttle almost whined.

"See ya back at the scoreboard," Vinnie sang, adding injury to insult.

"You two will pull double duty," Throttle yelled at them as they raced out of the garage. "Typical," he muttered.

After the floor was swept, Throttle put the coffee table back in its proper place and turned the TV off. He looked around, making sure everything was in order. Throttle was about to grab his own helmet and follow his bros when he remembered the copy of the verses he had promised Charlie. With a sigh he went back to the desk and finished rewriting it into a neater handwriting. When that was finished, Throttle put the original Martian copy and the first draft of the English copy into his pocket and left.

For weeks Throttle put the deciphering of the Martian verses on the back burner. Limburger had been unusually active keeping them busy, until last week when they sent him on a one way trip to Plutark care of Air Karbuncle. In truth, Throttle had completely forgotten about them until he happened to glance over on Charlie’s desk one day and saw a pile of notes on possible interpretations of the alien verses. Apparently Charlie had been putting a lot of thought into what Throttle had dismissed as ridiculous.

Feeling shamed, Throttle declined an invitation to play bike soccer with the guys and Charlie so that he could take another crack at it. He sat down at the folding table they occasionally played board games on at the scoreboard and looked over his two copies and Charlie’s notes. After an hour of going through every religious nuance that he had learn in his short life as an acolyte, Throttle started to doodle on the papers in front of him.

As he drew concentric circles on one of them he noticed that the pizza delivery boy had done his own weird doodles. On the original English version that Throttle had written so long ago, the kid had systematically crossed out each of the letters in the title of the verses along with the letters in ‘Charlene Davidson’ that Throttle had written at the top of the paper. Thinking that the boy was just strange, he ignored it at first, but something kept pulling his attention back.

Throttle picked up his own pencil and rewrote ‘Charlene Davidson’ to the side along with the title. He crossed out each letter of ‘He in Old Red Canvas’ with Charlie’s full name. Amazingly every letter in Charlie’s name corresponded with a letter in the title. Throttle just grinned it away as a coincidence, but he couldn’t seem to pull away from it.

After he reexamined the verses a sickening realization began to dawn on him. Many of the lines in the verses had the letters necessary to spell out Charlie’s name. In fact every other line could be rearranged to create Charlene Davidson. Shakily, Throttle took out another piece of blank paper and rewrote the verses using Charlie’s name. And this is what he found.

Charlene Davidson

Is told in the words

Charlene Davidson

Shows the way

Charlene Davidson

Have the answers to

Charlene Davidson

Or did we write false?

Charlene Davidson

Within her womb

Charlene Davidson

Hold such power

Charlene Davidson

Son born to her

Charlene Davidson

And end this world

Charlene Davidson

As he took her world

Charlene Davidson

From the crime we made

Charlene Davidson

In the blood of her heart

Charlene Davidson

When asked by love

Charlene Davidson

To the point of break

Charlene Davidson

To the land once theirs

Charlene Davidson

The end of suffering

Charlene Davidson

The truth to see

Charlene Davidson

The savior of the red

Charlene Davidson

The time of truth

Throttle sat back feeling sweat running under his fur. It had to be a coincidence, he tried to tell himself. Yeah, nineteen lines of coincidences, his rational side jeered back. It just couldn’t be. How could an ancient Martian chanting verse have a human’s name imprinted in every other line? Throttle felt his brain go into heavy melt down thinking of the possibilities and implications.

He wandered over to the window in the scoreboard that over looked the playing field. Down below Modo and Charlie had teamed up against Vinnie at the game they had invented that was a strange cross between soccer and motor cross racing. The three players zipped up and down the length of the field. Kicking and passing the ball, all the while laughing and joking with each other.

Vinnie suddenly took a break away and started racing for his side of the field avoiding all attempts of the other two to stop him. Modo pointed at Charlie and signaled her to flank Vinnie on the right side. Charlie quickly complied, using moves that she very rarely got to exercise because they always left her on the sideline. Soon Charlie caught up with the Velocity Atrocity and delayed him enough for Modo to get in front of him. Modo came to a halt and spun his bike around so that he was now facing Vinnie.

Vinnie didn’t see Modo, being too busy watching Charlie, and Modo didn’t notice that Vinnie was completely unaware of his location. Charlie however did. Seeing that a crash was imminent, she veered as close to Vinnie as she could, placed her foot on Vinnie’s bike and pushed. The white mouse was pushed sharply away from Charlie and Charlie was forced in the opposite direction. Both of them missed hitting Modo by inches. Neither Modo nor Vinnie seemed to realize that Charlie had just prevented a major fender bender and continued to play.

Throttle continued to watch the game feeling the weight of knowledge dragged his shoulders down. What was he going to do? What was he supposed to do? Go up to Charlie and say? "Hey, Charlie-girl. Did you realize that you are the savior of Mars?"

"Mars to Earth… Mars to Earth… any one got there got there ears on?" Came a crackling call over the communications array.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Throttle went to the radio and tuned the signal until Stoker’s voice and image were clear. "I’m here," Throttle told his mentor with a sigh.

"What’s wrong, son?" Stoker asked with concern. "That punk given ya trouble?"

"No… nothing like that. Just have a lot on my mind," Throttle responded, hoping that Stoker wouldn’t press.

"All work and no play will kill ya boy. Remember that," Stoker said jokingly.

"Yeah…I’ll remember," Throttle said with a smile. "What’cha calling for Stoke?"

"Just checkin’ in. Making sure you fellas still have your tails in tact."

"Were fine. Limburger has been out of commission for a week now. The only thing we’ve been fighting is boredom."

"I’m sure that’s driving Vincent crazy," Stoker said with a laugh. "Well, just wanted to touch base to make sure that you guys were OK. By the way, have you found anything in those old monk verses?"

Throttle froze up for a second. What was he going to say? Should he tell him? Would Stoker believe him? He hardly believed it himself. If anyone found out what he knew it would change Charlie’s life forever. The Martian government would never let her out of there sight if they thought that there was any chance that she could do something to restore Mars. Could he do that to his friend? Could he turn her world upside-down like that? How could he let his own people suffer if he knew a way to stop it?

"Hey, bro…you still there?" Stoker asked. Throttle made what he hoped was the right decision.

"No, Stoke. I didn’t find anything," He lied.

"Well don’t b eat yourself over it. The experts have been working for centuries without figuring it out. Don’t feel so bad. I mean if this thing IS a prophecy then it’s gonna happen with or with out us, right?"

Throttle suddenly felt the weight lift off his shoulders. Stoker was right. If this WAS Charlie’s destiny then there was nothing anybody could do to stop it anyway. The verses were just a prophecy of what would be, not how to make it to be. Throttle smiled to his mentor, felling happier than he did in a long time.

"Right, Stoker. What will be, will be," he said with a shrug.

"Talk to ya later, Throttle. Keep your powder dry and ride free!" Stoker said just as he cut the line.

Throttle walked to the table where he had made all of his discoveries. He gathered up all of the evidence and stuffed it into the bottom of his steamer trunk under all of his clothes, where no one would see it. No use alarming his bros or Charlie until it was absolutely necessary. As he closed the lid something hit him in the back of the head. He turned and ducked just in time when another rock sailed into the window from the field below.

He stuck his head out the window and found Modo and Vinnie, each with a handful of rocks. Both of them were chucking them at the window, most missed and hit the scoreboard but some actually made it into the window. After they saw that they had gained his attention all three of them took off their helmets and called up to him.

"Can Throttle come out and playyyyyyyyyy," The three of them chorused in a sing-song voice.

Throttle waved down, letting them know that he was coming. As he walked away from the window he could hear them arguing down below about who was going to be on which team. He laughed as he heard Charlie take command and suggest, with force, that they flip a coin. To which the other two groaned. Life was good, and he was going to keep it that way for as long as possible, until fate, destiny and prophecy changed it for all of them.

The End ?